Welcome to the New World
by BowtiesAreCool22
Summary: Everything that I used to know is gone. There are no more constants in my life, anybody I know could die in a moment, torn apart right in front of my eyes. I don't like this new world, but that's not important. Whether or not I like it, I'm going to survive it. I'm going to find a safe place and people that I love, and I'm going to try to make the new world right again...
1. Welcome to The End

**Author's Note:**

Hello, everyone. If you clicked on this story randomly, don't read it. I don't like it. If you clicked on this story from the Beginning, don't read it. I don't like it. Basically I just don't like this story. I'm leaving it up for anyone that really wants to read it, but all of Lucy's story will be told in The End.

Why don't I like this story? I'm not exactly sure. I couldn't really get into Lucy's character, I had a lot of writer's block while doing it, I dunno. It just all bubbled up. Basically, a lot of this was rushed, the last half didn't go through a final edit. I like the first few chapters, but I absolutely deplore the last few.

Anyway, this is the last warning. Don't read this. Go read The Beginning. If you already read The Beginning, follow it and wait for The End. If you've already followed it... then... um... watch the Walking Dead again.

So, if you've completely ignored all of these warnings, go ahead. The story's below. There are absolutely no more AN's except for the one at the very end. Read at your own discretion, and please don't review that you hate it. I already hate it.

(This update on 8/15/14)

**End Author's Note.**

* * *

_December 25, 2009_

_So… Hi. I just got this diary thing from Mom. Well, you, I suppose. It's supposed to be a journal to God, and Mom says it can help me sort out my thoughts and prayers, but I don't really get what that means. Anyway, I'll try to write in you, so… I guess I'll start with a prayer._

_Dear God, thank You for this Christmas. Thank You for all of the gifts that I got and thank You for bringing my family together for today. I will always be grateful for the things that You give me. I pray that you'll keep my family safe and happy, and that we'll all have long, wonderful lives together, full of more Christmases and birthdays and everything else in between. _

_Happy Birthday Jesus._

_Amen._

* * *

_February 14, 2010_

_I just realized that I haven't written in this thing since I got it. It's my birthday today, but since this is a journal to God I guess you already know that. Anyway, I found this while I was putting away the new clothes that Sami got me and I figured I'd try to write in it again. Of course, no promises, because I still don't really understand the whole 'keeping your thoughts in order' thing that Mom was talking about._

_Dear God, thank You for the gifts I got today. Thank You for bringing my family together again and thank You for that light dusting of snow that made everything look so beautiful. Also, a happy Valentine's Day, which I know is really to celebrate the Saint Valentine, who married people in secret. I pray that when I get married, there won't be people trying to kill me. Once again, I pray for my family to have long happy lives together._

_Amen._

* * *

_March 8, 2010_

_I did it again. I forgot about this. But it doesn't matter, because I thought I probably would._

_Dear God, I pray that You heal my family of the flu that's bothering them, and I pray that I don't catch it. I also pray that I might be able to grasp Latin verb conjugation, though that might be more of a matter of motivation. Anyway, thank You for this day, and I pray for many more._

_Amen._

* * *

_April 1, 2010_

_I don't know how he did it, but Drew actually got a real owl to deliver a letter to our window. I think I almost hyperventilated before he started laughing and I remembered it was April Fool's Day. Mom and Dad kept asking him over and over how he trained the owl or where he got the money to rent it, but he wouldn't tell them. It felt like an episode of a Disney Channel show. Anyway, I know that You know how he did it, so if he never tells, I'm sure that You'll tell me in seventy years or so._

_Dear God, thank You for the wonderful family and the fantastic life that you've given me. Thank You for happiness and laughter, and I hope that there's a lot more of that in my life. Please help me understand Algebra a bit better, and please help me convince Mom and Dad to get a dog._

_Amen._

* * *

_I don't know why I grabbed this thing while we were packing, but I have you now. And since this is a journal to God, I don't have to tell you what this disease is, because you already know. I don't have to tell you that sick people are attacking each other and that I don't know where Mom and Dad are. I don't have to tell you that we're travelling to Georgia looking for a safe place. I don't have to say any of that. Just this._

_Dear God, please, please, please, please cure whatever this is. I've never wanted anything more in my entire life. And please keep us all safe. _

_Amen._

_P.S. Mr. Goddard is dead. I thought I should write that down._

* * *

_Day 21_

_I don't actually know what the date is, so I'm just going with that. It's been 21 days since this disease broke out. _

_Dear God, You didn't cure this disease, but that's okay. I know that there are things that You do that are beyond my comprehension, and I know that You have a plan. I just hope that that plan doesn't involve anymore death. I pray that you keep us safe._

_Amen._

_P.S. The lady in the pantsuit, the man with the red hat, the boy with a broken leg._

_Aunt Jenny._

* * *

_Day 25_

_We got ran out of the house yesterday, but that's okay. We figured out how to kill those things. I don't feel bad about killing them, because they're already dead. I actually feel good about killing them, because it's like putting them out of their misery. I don't think that the people who used to belong to those bodies would want to know that they're trying to kill people now._

_Dear God, please keep us safe. Keep us alive. Let us find food and water, and let Jamie get used to solids soon. Let my aim stay true, and let none of us die. Just please, please, please keep us safe._

_Amen._

_P.S. The ones that Sami shot, the one that we ran over, and the lady I hit with my knife._

* * *

_Day 27,_

_We found some survivalist's old bunker. It's stocked with enough food and water to last us awhile, and I think we have enough formula to keep Jamie at bay while we get him used to solid food. Everything's pretty locked down, and I feel safe for the first time in a while._

_Dear God, thank you for this bunker, thank You for the safety it provides, thank You for keeping us all alive another day. I pray that we stay safe here, and I pray that in the days that we spend down here that the world will come back to order._

_I also pray that You rid me of the nightmares that have been haunting me._

_Amen._

_P.S. A man and a woman in the woods. One outside the bunker._

* * *

_Day 34,_

_Dear God, I didn't know that a disaster event would be so boring. Even though I wish You'd give us a bit of entertainment, I have more important things to ask you for. I hope that while we're in this bunker bored out of our minds that the world is getting cleaned up above us. I pray that the scientists have come up with some sort of vaccine, or that You've let the dead bodies have some peace. _

_Also… I pray for some understanding. I know that everything You do is wise, but I'm having a hard time understanding this. I don't understand why You'd kill so many people. Of course, You've killed everybody before, in the Flood. Is this punishment for how far we've fallen? If it is, I pray that You'll have mercy on my little siblings._

_I still love You even now._

_Amen._

* * *

_Day 50,_

_Dear God,_

_We're leaving in less than a month. I pray that You've made the world better. I pray so hard for that. Please._

_Amen._

* * *

I never remember my whole nightmare. I never remember the colors or the shapes or if there were any people in my dream. I just remember screaming. And groaning. And moaning. And more screaming. Then some crying. And then more screaming.

The screaming never stops.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, when I'm lying awake with Jamie tucked into the crook of my left arm and Will cuddling my right, and I'm listening to nothing but the breathing around me, I swear I can hear people screaming in the distance. I try to convince myself that it's just my mind playing tricks on me, but I know it's entirely possible that it's real.

I hope it's not real.

I don't get too much sleep.

I don't think that Sami's sleeping very much, either. She spends a lot of time running a hand through her hair, which she's always done when she's stressed. I don't think she even notices. I know it's bad when that perfect part down the middle of her pin-straight brown hair is nowhere to be found. I remember thinking her hair was perfect.

I haven't seen that perfect part in a few days.

Jamie's stopped crying so much, and I don't know if that's good or bad. It means he's getting used to whatever this is, whatever kind of life we're living in now, and I think that's equal parts good and bad. Because what if the world stays like this and we never find Mom and Dad again? Jamie won't remember them one little bit. Will'll be lucky if he does. Fiona will have a few images, Julie will have a few memories, Drew will remember more clearly. And then there'll be me, who remembers them perfectly, until one day I'll find that I don't.

I already forget what color Mom's eyes were. I know that Dad's were blue.

Sami's looking at a map again. I don't know what she's hoping to find. She's been staring at that map for the past—_check the marks on the wall_—twenty-six days.

Drew's tinkering with a broken radio again. He's been doing that for about twenty days. He hasn't fixed it yet. I'm not sure if he really thinks he can or if he's just looking for something to do.

Julie's playing with Will. They devised some game having to do with water bottle caps about a week ago. I don't understand it, but it passes their time adequately.

Fiona's pouting again. She still wants to go outside.

I check my numbers again. I come out to twelve, and then sixteen if I ration conservatively, and then I try again and I get thirteen. I pretty much come to the conclusion that we have two weeks. Two weeks until we're out of food.

Sami and I have talked about that. It would be better if one of us could just leave, find a place with supplies, and then get back here, but we're in the middle of the woods. Maybe that's what she's doing with that map, trying to figure out where we_ are_ in the woods.

And anyway, I don't think I want to ever split up. I don't ever want to be alone.

Have I ever been alone in my life?

Honestly, I don't think I have. There would always be my little siblings or my parents or my grandparents or Sami or my aunt and uncle. I was homeschooled, Mom stayed at home. I've never been alone. Not once in my life.

I think I spend a good minute or two staring at the paper in front of me, pondering on that fact, before I hear something. Like a quiet thump, and a slight change in temperature, and I look up at the same time that Sami screams _"FI!"_

I jump up, following Sami out the door that Fiona just snuck out of, and before I've even gotten halfway up the staircase I hear my little sister screaming.

And then Sami.

But Sami's is a different kind of screaming.

I'm not sure if I want to get to the top of the stairs—even though I need to. I pull a knife out of my belt and bolt up the last few steps and turn the corner and see the open door and see Sami _screaming _and Fiona _screaming _and another Dead-One coming—

—throw the knife, hit the target perfectly. Sami takes down hers, and then she's hovering over Fiona and still screaming, but also crying. And yelling. Yelling at Fi "WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT!" and "I DON'T WANT YOU TO DIE!"

And I see the big bloody gash on my baby sister's neck and the way that her face is getting so pale…

Some sort of sound leaves my throat. I don't know what it is, and my knees give out and my vision narrows—

Fi's fingers move. And then they drop.

I make another noise.

Sami screams. And throws a punch at the ground. And then stands up and throws a punch at a tree. I just stare at my little sister. I didn't—I didn't get to her in time. I didn't get to touch her one more time or say _please please please_ and she was only a few feet away but my stupid knees gave out—

Fiona's dead.

My baby sister's dead.

_Fi Fi Fi Fi Fi Fi Fi Fi Fi Fi Fi Fi Fi Fi Fi Fi Fi Fi Fi Fi_

Dead.

Gone.

Forever.

I feel light-headed.

And for the first time in my life I really understand how someone could believe that there isn't a God.

* * *

_Day 53,_

_Dear God, I faltered. Just for a moment. You know that already. And You know why. And I know that You forgive me. But I don't understand. I want to understand. I can almost understand what happened to Aunt Jenny because you put Sami here to protect us but now she's shut down and she can't protect us and I don't know wha_

* * *

_Day 67,_

_We're leaving tomorrow._

_I know You haven't listened to me before, but please keep us safe. Please. I love You so much, just do this one this, please please please_

* * *

"You alright?" Sami asks quietly.

"Just tired," I mutter "Didn't sleep well."

She nods and speeds up to walk a few steps ahead of me. I hold back an eye-roll or a disapproving sigh. Sami wouldn't notice that anything was wrong with me these days. She only asked because I stumbled. I don't like what's happening to her. I don't like how… _detached _she's getting.

I sigh and shift Will in my arms. He squirms and my right arm cramps up. "Bubby, can you walk?" I ask him softly. He scrunches up his face in apparent disgust at the idea of _walking_, but after a few moments he nods and wiggles his legs.

I smile and kneel down to set him gently at the ground. I tuck a small lock of brown hair behind his ear and smile. He smiles back and whispers "Whena we gonna stop?"

"Whenever we get out of the woods," I reply.

"When's dat?"

"I don't know," I say, trying to sound more hopeful than I feel. Logically, I know that we're going to get out of the woods; we're in a first world country, we'll find_ something_. But there's a subtle dread in my stomach, eating me up, telling me that we're not going to make it out of the woods. Ever.

I try to ignore it.

While we were in that bunker, the military was able to get a handle on things again. That _has _to have happened. The military is strong enough to handle this. And if they're not, what chance do seven kids have?

Six. Six kids. Not seven.

My stomach does a roll and I stand up. "Let's just keep walking," I whisper to Will. He nods and takes my hand, and we keep on walking.

It's still morning. The sun hasn't reached the high point in the sky yet. We decided to head west for no particular reason, but we needed a direction so that we wouldn't end up going in circles. Sami and Drew both have compasses, but the sun could just as easily direct us.

But despite the sun telling me that we haven't been walking for more than an hour, I feel like we've been trudging through the woods for days. That ever-present dread is just gnawing at my stomach. I feel raw. My legs feel wobbly. My head is spinning. There's a ringing in my ears—

No, not a ring. A moan.

I scream as I step back and grab my knife. I jerk Will behind me before Sami comes out of nowhere and clubs the Dead-One with a crowbar. How did it get that _close_ to me? I didn't even _see _it.

"Sami—"

"Behind you!" she shouts, grabbing her gun. I spin and see several more dead people ambling over. I jerk Will away again, behind Sami, grab a knife and throw. It hits the closest one as Sami's gun makes a big BANG followed by Drew's gun and suddenly they're not just in front of us, they're coming from the way we came and the way we were going and the only way to go is behind me—what direction is that? Quick thinking—north. The only free direction is north.

"Run!" Sami shouts.

I get a brief glimpse of Julie's dark brown ponytail disappearing behind a Dead-One, a last image of Drew with his shoulder bleeding, carrying Jamie away—

_—please don't be bitten—_

—and as I turn and scoop up Will, I get a last image of Sami, shooting her gun with deadly accuracy, a Dead-One reaching out to snatch at her light brown hair—

I run. It feels like the Dead-ones are just appearing out of nowhere, popping out of trees, falling from the sky, and being spat out of the ground. I duck and dodge and weave around them, willing my arms or legs not to cramp up, praying—

_—please God, please let me get through this, please let Will get through this, please—_

—and just running, running, running.

I hear loud, quick gunfire. Automatic gunfire, coming from the direction I came. I chance a glance over my shoulder, and it seems like a lot of the Dead-Ones have been distracted by the sound. But not all of them.

The path ahead of me seems a lot clearer now, but_ they're _still after me. The Dead-Ones that would like nothing better than to tear me apart and eat me.

Maybe the automatic gunfire was the military. Maybe Sami, Drew, or Julie found them. If Drew was bit, they might have a vaccine.

A loud scream.

A Sami scream.

A very loud, blood-curdling Sami scream.

Blink back a tear and keep running.

I look over my shoulder again. There's a lot less now. I don't know how their brains work, but the fact that distant gunfire and screams is more appetizing to them than a living girl in front of them is interesting, and something I need to log for later. It could save my life someday.

I think it may have saved my life just now.

I slow to a walk and look behind me. There are a lot less. Less than a dozen. Nine of them. Could I kill nine of them?

I run for another minute or so and look behind me again. The Dead-Ones are further back now due to their slowness, but they're persistent creatures. They'll keep walking in this direction even if they lose sight of me.

But they're far enough away now that I can take a small breather.

I stop and set down Will, settle into a crouch, and take some deep breaths. "Are you okay, Bubby?" I ask.

Will nods and approaches me for a hug. I return it, but look over my shoulder again;_ they_ are still coming. The difference is that they're more spaced apart now. The ones with leg or spine injuries are lagging behind the others quite a bit. In the front of the group there are three. Could I kill three?

I break away from Will and stand up. I run a hand along my belt and count the knives I have hanging there. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. I thought I had eleven left. Wait, I hit one when Sami and Drew started shooting.

Ten knives. Nine Dead-Ones. One margin for error. I can do this.

"Bubby, stay close to me," I instruct Will. He nods and grips the side of my jeans, which I've noticed recently are looser than usual. I'm losing weight.

I take a few tentative steps forward and one of the dead growls at me. I take a deep breath. Take one of my knives. Size up my target, take aim, throw—

Right in the head. It topples. It was a woman with straggly black hair.

The next two go down just as easily. A man with one arm and a boy barely older than me.

Six more coming. A woman in a pantsuit with her stomach torn open, a woman in a bloodstained robe, a man with a leg bone sticking out, a girl in a too-short skirt with her face hanging off, an old man in nice clothes with a bad ankle, and a young man in a McDonald's uniform with a large gash on his neck.

I try not to think of them as people.

It's hard.

But I'm doing them a service.

I'm freeing them.

Throw one knife, throw two. The third one misses, try again. Hit. A fourth knife, a fifth one. My last knife for too-short skirt girl. I hit her dead-on.

When the girl goes down, I realize that I'm shaking just a bit. I take another deep breath and look around; nothing but the trees.

I kneel down and look Will in the eye. "Bubby, I need to get my knives back. I need you to do something for me. Can you do something for a big boy?" He nods eagerly and I continue "I need you to stay right her and keep looking around. If you see anything moving, if you hear any leaves crunching, you need to call for me right away. Can you do that?" He smiles and nods eagerly again and I smile back. I give him a quick kiss on the head and stand up.

I walk over to the dead bodies, which are all splayed out fairly close to each other. I kneel down next to too-short skirt girl and reach for the knife in her head. I grip it tightly, pull, and it comes out with a sickening_ thunk_ sound. I grimace, wipe the blood off on the girl's shirt, and tuck the knife back into my belt.

I repeat the process with eight more Dead-Ones, and by the end I feel like I might throw up any moment. If the sight of the blood and guts isn't bad enough, it's just the_ smell_.

I search around for my last knife, the one that I missed, and find it tucked under one of the bodies. I pull it away and tuck it into my belt, and then I'm done.

I walk a bit unsteadily back to my little brother and lean down to give him a hug.

"I didden see anyfing," he informs me.

"Good," I reply "Now, we're gonna have to keep walking, but I can't carry you anymore. Are you okay with that?"

Will pouts, but he says "Yeah," and I stand up again.

We start walking.

* * *

Hours go by. Not a single Dead-One crosses our path, and I feel a bit unsettled by that. I don't know why.

The sun moves. A squirrel scuttles by. Will coughs. A bird sings.

No Dead-Ones.

I should be happy about that.

Eventually we stop to drink some water. Unfortunately, Sami had most of the food. More fortunate is the fact that I have most of the medicine. It's not much, but there are painkillers, a small bottle of antibiotics, bandages, antiseptic, basically just a first aid kit. There's also a bottle of liquor, which I thought might be good for a medical kit.

As for food, there's nothing more than two granola bars, some crackers, and three bottles of water. But water shouldn't be terribly difficult to procure, as long as I can get a pot and something to start a fire with.

Will and I split a granola bar, finish our water, and then we're walking again. It feels pretty late when we finally get out of the woods and onto some sort of road, but looking at the sky I can tell it's probably only two o'clock or so.

The road is actually a highway, and it seems pretty desolate at first glance. I remember the roads being like this while we were travelling to Georgia. Aunt Jenny said that everybody was trying to get somewhere, so cars would be grouped into traffic jams, not scattered along the road.

I can see one of those traffic jams a ways down the road, on the horizon. Even though there might be Dead-Ones there, I figure it's a good place to look for supplies. I don't know where the next town will be, and those cars will be sure to have supplies.

So we start walking again.

Now that I have a real destination, the walk feels shorter, and I feel a little bit accomplished when we get there.

This jam only moves one way. There are cars in the other lanes that were trying to use that side of the road to travel, but clearly it didn't work. Everything's abandoned. Some cars' doors are hanging open.

The smell of death is everywhere, but I don't see any movement. Still, I need a plan for Will. One of those things could be anywhere. So, a plan. What to do?

I walk slowly between the lanes until I'm a few car lengths in, then I pick up Will and set him on the hood of a blue car next to me. "Climb onto the roof," I tell him, tapping the roof of the car. He carefully crawls up the windshield and onto the roof of the car. I smile. "Good, now keep a lookout. If you see something call for me. If one of the monsters tries to get you, scream as loud as you can. Can you do that?"

He nods.

"Good," I say quietly, backing away from the car and looking around. I let out a long breath and tap my foot. Is this what I should be doing? I don't know. But it seems like a fairly good plan.

I start exploring.

I find lots of dead bodies, but none of them move. They're all just dead.

I find a truck full of jugs for water coolers. About half of them are gone, but the rest are still there. I can figure out what to do with those later.

I find food in a few cars. It's mostly granola bars and crackers, like I have, but there're also some cans and MREs.

A few glove compartments have bottles of medicine. Nothing fancy, but everything helps.

A few lighters, some matches.

I stuff everything I find into my bag, and eventually I have to find a new bag.

I think I have enough supplies to last us awhile when I come across a car with supplies on the hood and a message written across the windshield.

_SOPHIA STAY HERE WE WILL COME EVERY DAY_

I glance at the supplies and the paint. They both seem pretty new. New enough that whoever left these supplies here are still looking for this Sophia person. And they haven't found her yet, because the supplies are still here. Wouldn't they collect the supplies if they found Sophia?

And they're _looking_ for this woman, so they have to be good people. Maybe I can stay here with Will. Maybe they'll come tomorrow and we can go with them.

I like that idea.

When they find us we can find Sami, Drew, Julie, and Jamie. Everything will be alright.

I smile and drop my bags of supplies off in the car with the message written on it. We can sleep in that car tonight and tomorrow those people will find us and we can go with them. That's the plan.

I search forward a bit more, making sure there are no Dead-Ones that could pop out of nowhere, but finding none I return to Will. He informs me that he saw nothing and then I get him down. We head back to the car with the message for Sophia and I throw together two makeshift beds; one for me in the backseat, one in the front passenger's for Will.

I start a small fire in the grass between the lanes and heat up a can of Spaghetti-O's. We eat. I return to the rack of water jugs and lug one over to the car. Will tells me his stomach hurts. I give him some antacids that he says taste like candy.

The sun gets lower and I make sure that the fire is out before we settle into the car.

* * *

_Day 69 (I think)_

_Dear God, please let me reunite with my family. I know that You have a plan, and I really hope that being separated is not a part of it. I don't want to alone. I don't think I can take care of Will by myself._

_At least… let these people be good. Please. When they find us, just let them be good people that take us in. Maybe they found Sami, Drew, Julie, or Jamie. Please let that be._

_Thank You for letting me and Will live another day. Thank You for all of the food I found here. Please let us get through the next few days unharmed._

_I guess we'll see how things pan out tomorrow._

_Amen._

_10 in the woods._

_A few more by Sami and Drew._

_The ones in the traffic jam._

_It's a bit late now. But Fiona._


	2. Welcome to Loneliness

_Day 70,_

_Dear God, it's a beautiful morning and we're safe. I thank You for that. I just pray that I'm reunited with my family, and that the group I'm hoping to meet today will accept us._

_Amen._

* * *

It's not quite daylight yet. The sun is at that point where it's painting the sky a variety of pinks and blues. I always thought it looked like cotton candy.

Will coughs in his sleep.

I frown, sit up, and stretch out my muscles. The back of a car isn't the worst place in the world to sleep, but it was hardly comfortable. I rub the sleep out of my eyes and look around; no Dead-Ones in sight. The highway is just as silent as it was yesterday.

I pull out my journal and write a quick entry, then fall back onto the seat with a small 'oof.' I don't exactly have anything important to do today, so I may as well be lazy.

Just as that thought crosses my mind, my stomach growls in disagreement. I'll need to make some breakfast soon. Or maybe I'll just have a granola bar, which seems easier.

I allow myself to remain lazy for a few more minutes until finally my stomach gives a rumble so loud I'm forced to acknowledge it. I sit up again and look around once more. I dig into my bag and pull out a granola bar and a bottle of water. I eat the granola bar quickly and sip the water leisurely. I crack open the car door and let the cool morning air in. The sun's all the way up now, most of the sky a soft powder blue.

It's a beautiful day.

I put the cap back on my water and step out of the car to stretch out further. If I ignore the smell of death that permeates essentially everything these days, I can pretend that I'm on a road trip and this is just a quick break.

I close the car door quietly and look around again before venturing just off the highway to relieve myself as fast as I can.

As I return to the car I wonder when that group will get here, what they'll be like. How big is the group? Will there be any other kids there? Maybe Sami, Drew, Julie, or Jamie is already there. Maybe everything will be okay.

I know I'm being a bit too optimistic, but I'm still smiling.

I approach the side of the car and tap on the window of the passenger's side. Will stirs and I open the door, reaching in to support him as he sits up. "Wakey wakey, good morning," I coo with a grin.

Will coughs and looks at me. His face is pale and sweaty, his eyes glazed over, and he's unable to completely sit up.

My heart drops.

So does my smile.

He coughs again.

* * *

_Day 71_

_Dear God, I think that someone with lesser sense of faith would hate You right now. And I almost want to hate You. But I can't. And You know my feelings. You understand. And I know that this is all a part of Your plan. But I don't like it._

_I understand what happened to Sami now. She lost faith. But I will not. You can send me every single test. I will not lose my faith. I will not._

_I still love You._

_I'm going to be alone now. So I pray that I find someone else. And I pray tha_

* * *

I stop writing. A tear falls on the journal. I'm crying.

I snap it closed and shove it into my bag before I start to all-out sob. I can't do this. I can't be alone. I don't know how to be alone.

Will moans in his sleep and a few more tears fall. I keep myself silent, if only not to wake him up. He doesn't have anything good to wake up to right now. It would be better if it happened while he was asleep. I've already said goodbye.

He shivers again. He never stops shivering. The fever must be eating him up.

He said he felt like he was snapping. He said that he was burning. He said that he couldn't move.

Children aren't supposed to die like that.

Children aren't supposed to be eaten up by a fever that turns them into raving monsters.

Children aren't supposed to be aimlessly roaming a strange countryside filled with things that want to kill them.

Will isn't supposed to die.

He wasn't supposed to get scratched.

He didn't tell me that he got scratched.

He didn't know any better.

I thought we got away from that attack. I thought that we were going to be free. But Will got scratched and I didn't even notice. If Will got scratched, then Drew was probably bit. That means that Jamie's gone, too. I heard Sami scream. Julie ran right into the Dead-Ones. They all must be dead. They're all gone.

I'm all alone.

I'm all alone for the first time in my life.

No, not yet. I'm not alone just yet because Will is still clinging to life. But that won't last long. And then…

Then I'll be alone.

It hasn't even happened yet and I hate it already.

My vision clouds from the tears and I wipe my eyes, still trying not to make a sound. I want nothing more than to break down right now but I need to keep it together. Just for a few more hours. Just for my baby brother. He doesn't need to be more scared than he already is.

I need to distract myself. I glance at Will one more time before I stand up and walk over to the window. There's nothing around this house except for the woods and the road. I found it after I found a car with the keys still inside and carefully drove away from the traffic jam. Driving wasn't as hard as I thought it would be.

There weren't any Dead-Ones here, which I was grateful for. I don't think I could've killed them after I realized that Will was infected.

I think my world exploded in that moment.

Maybe I should've stayed in the traffic jam and waited for that group. Maybe they would've let him die naturally… but maybe not. I just couldn't stand the 'maybe not.' They might have shot him on sight for being infected and I couldn't even…

I just _can't._

I'm tearing up again.

Will the world ever get back to normal? I hope so, but if it doesn't… then what? Do I just spend my days wandering around being afraid of the living and the dead? Wandering alone, death hanging over me. And one day my time will be up.

At least when that day comes I won't be alone anymore.

I close my eyes and lean forward, holding my hands together. "Please God," I say in barely more than a whisper "Please… I don't even know what I'm praying for but just… please. Please…. just please."

Please I don't want to be alone.

Please I don't want Will to die.

Please I don't want anybody to die.

Please I want the world to go back to normal.

Please, please, please.

"Amen."

What am I supposed to pray for?

* * *

I keep watching Will. I keep waiting. I keep crying. Time feels slower than usual.

If time flies when you're having fun, it stands to reason that it would slow down when you're miserable. And when you're at the lowest point in your life it makes sense that it would crawl along at the pace of a snail.

It's lucky that Will doesn't wake up. The pain and the fever is probably intensifying and he doesn't need to feel that.

But when his chest finally stops moving I think that _I_ feel it. I think that my heart stops, too. I think that I stop breathing.

And I feel that pain.

I reach out, ever-so-slowly, dreadfully, to feel the side of his neck.

And I don't find a pulse.

And I break down.

It's not just crying anymore. It's screaming, sobbing, miserable tears of _I HATE EVERYTHING!_ and what am I supposed to pray for anymore? What do I have left to _beg_ for? What do I have left to _do_?

What do I do now?

I know that I'm making a lot of noise but I don't particularly care. Maybe the Dead-Ones will hear me, maybe not. It doesn't matter. I've locked down all of the entrances. And really, if I died right now, I wouldn't be leaving all that much behind.

I think I understand why people could commit suicide. I never understood that before. But I get it. If I can understand why someone wouldn't believe in God, now I understand why someone could kill themselves.

_A plethora of epiphanies at the end of the world._

Sami would've wanted me to write that down.

I cry harder.

I don't recall grabbing my knives but I'm throwing them at the wall. Most of them don't even stick, which is a testament to how messed up I am right now. Missing is one thing, but to have my projectile bounce right off the target it another. I can't see straight, my head is pounding, and nothing feels right anymore.

I remember the liquor that I've kept as a part of my medical kit. Maybe now would be the time to take up drinking.

I snort at the thought and cry again. Mom and Dad used to drink. Before I was born. Dad would still drink on occasion. I always thought it was stupid. Why would you _want_ to not think clearly?

That's another thing that I get now.

Throw another knife. This one sticks.

Will is still very dead, and now he's getting pale. He's starting to shrivel up like dead bodies do, and I know that he's going to be one of those things. It could be minutes, it could be hours, but it's going to happen. I owe it to him to not let that happen.

I wipe off my tears again and pull myself off the floor. I stalk over to the wall, wrench a knife away angrily, pound my feet as I walk back to the bed and I raise my knife above his head.

Why can't I do it? It would be so easy. Just wrench down. Just end it. Just make sure my baby brother doesn't have to become one of those things.

So why can't I do it?

Why can't I?

My arms shake, and I let out another choked sob.

Drop the knife.

Break down again.

I'm pathetic. I can't even spare my baby brother from being a soulless, flesh-eating monster. What's wrong with me? One little movement, one downward jab, and it would be done. He'd be at peace.

But I can't.

I grab the knife I just dropped and throw it across the room. It's not a real throw, it's just a toss. I'm not aiming at anything. It hits my bag and I hear the clanging of the bottle.

I fall completely to the floor, lying on my back, staring at the ceiling, still sobbing. I hate everything. My life is over. I don't have anything left. No future, nothing meaningful.

I can't kill myself. I'll never drop to that point. But I may as well try to dull something.

I pick myself up again and wipe away my tears before crossing the room and grabbing the bag with the bottle of liquor. I grab it from the bottom and everything falls out, all of the medicine and food and assorted things I have in there. I glance at the bag—Sami gave it to me for my eleventh birthday. I sewed my name into it. _Lucy._

I toss the bag aside and stoop down to pick up the bottle.

Does drinking actually help? I've never really thought about it. Dad drank. Uncle Bruce drank. It's got to help, right? People drink to dull things, make things more enjoyable.

It feels wrong, somehow. Like maybe it's a sin. I don't know. I never had an occasion to check up on that. Is drinking a sin? Maybe drinking to excess. I don't know. But if it'll help dull this… _pain_… I want it.

Should I?

I was saving this bottle as a disinfectant. But now I'm alone, so if I get a bad cut and have nothing to clean it with it'll be my own fault. My own damn fault.

_Damn._

That word feels weird even in my head.

I open the bottle and take a big swig like I've seen people do in movies, only to cough and spit it all out. All over the floor. Over some of the supplies. It burned like fire, which I wasn't expecting. My throat hurts and I'm still coughing. Why do people drink this? It's _disgusting_.

They drink it to dull things. Like I'm doing right now.

So I take another sip. This one is small, barely anything at all. I swallow it with a cringe and it goes down with much less of a burn.

I stride to the wall and plop onto the ground, leaning against it. The knives are on the floor next to me. I find that I really don't care. I take another sip.

I hope things start blurring and dulling. I don't want to think anymore.

I wipe away some more tears and keep sipping gingerly at the liquor. Eventually everything starts to feel pleasantly blurry and I stop crying. That's nice. Crying isn't fun. I don't like crying. I don't like my baby brother dying either.

_Sip._

_Hiccup._

_Creak._

I glance vaguely in Will's direction. He isn't moving. Still got time. Still got time 'fore he turns into a monster. Still got time to put a knife in his head. Pierce the brain, kill the dead even deader. World's fulla monsters. Hack and slash. I'm all alone.

_Sip._

_Creak._

Look at Will again. Still not moving. What's creaking? 'Cause Will ain't undead yet.

_Sip._

_Creak._

Don't really care what's creaking. Will still not up. Will and still rhyme.

_Laugh._

_Sip._

_Hiccup._

_Creak._

I'm all alone. What's that creaking?

_Creak._

What is it?

_Creak._

Is a Dead-One in here?

_Creak._

It can't be.

_Creak._

Didn't I seal everything up?

Bigger creak.

Door opening. Hand on the doorknob not rotting. No moans. Not a Dead-One. A live one. A person.

They step in.

Big man.

He looks confused.

Not alone anymore.

"Well," I say. Drawing out the word. I sound weird. "Hello there."

Bottle falls outta my hands. World spins. Floor gets close to my face.


	3. Welcome to New Hope

I once tripped walking down some brick stairs and cracked my head open. It feels like this. It feels like my head is splitting open again. It feels like I have a concussion. It feels like there should be a doctor treating me, prescribing me medications. It feels like my mother should be telling me off for being so careless and Drew should be making fun of me for being clumsy. It feels like Sami should be here, calling me Tonks. Aunt Jenny should be getting us through the usual wait and into the emergency room, past the chaos of all the drunkards that clutter the waiting room.

Except I didn't crack my head open. In this case, _I'm_ the drunkard. I'm the idiot that drank too much and is now paying for it with a lot of pain.

I open my eyes and sunlight pierces me, striking a bolt of pain through my skull, banging around in my brain, making everything hurt. Why do people drink if it leads to this?

No, I know the answer. Because I forgot for a bit. I remember being happy, sort of. At least… not as sad as I could have been.

_That's_ why people drink.

Escaping for a little bit is worth some pain. Is that true for me? It might be. I don't feel like I'm going to choke on my own tears anymore, so that has to count for something.

I try to open my eyes again, this time with my hand covering my face. It still hurts, but it's not quite so bad.

I sit up slightly and my stomach flips. Bile rises in my throat and I have to fight the overwhelming nausea that I have as a result of a hangover. A _hangover_. Goodness, what is wrong with me? Why did I do something so _stupid_?

To forget.

To forget Will.

Where's Will?

I'm in a car. How did I get in a car? Where's Will? The car is moving. I'm in a moving car—

_Who's driving the car?_

"Stop!" I yell, my voice cracking and reverberating in my ears. My headache intensifies but I ignore it, lower the hand from my face, and sit up all the way. "Stop driving!" I yell at the back of the person's head.

I see his face in the rearview mirror. I see him roll his (blue) eyes and then the car starts to slow down. The change in motion jerks at my stomach, my esophagus, and my throat and I really, really try to ignore it but—

—I get the door open before the vehicle has even come to a complete stop and jump out, collapse to my knees on the pavement, and throw up everything in my stomach. I haven't thrown up very many times in my life, but I know that this burns in a way that normal throwing up shouldn't.

I take a few quaking breaths before the vomit starts up again. Throwing up the liquor and the measly meals of yesterday and the water and the stomach bile and when it's all gone I'm just a quivering heap of pale, sweaty weakness.

"Well shit, darlin,'" the unfamiliar man drawls. He has a gravelly voice and a very Southern accent. "I was here thinkin' tha' maybe ya could hold yer liquor."

"Shut up," I croak. My voice is shaking and higher pitched than usual. I try to swallow and find that my throat feels raw. A few tears well up. I think the pain isn't the only reason that they're here.

I look up at the man, who's leaning against the side of the car and looking rather amused at my misery. He's a big man, burly, and wears clothes that show off his muscles. He has closely cropped hair and thick facial features, all of which give him an air of general toughness.

Where did he come from? How did I end up in a car with this man? No—not a car, a truck. A very big truck. Uncle Bruce drove a truck like this. I remember Sami complaining about how hard it was to get in it. This looks like a truck that is going to be hard for me to climb into.

But the truck is really unimportant.

"Where's Will?" I ask weakly.

"The kid?" asks the man. His face changes, softens a bit. He doesn't look quite so amused anymore. "Put 'im down. 'E didn' turn."

Put Will down. Pierced his brain.

He didn't turn. Will wasn't a monster.

I should've been the one to keep that from happening. But instead it was this unknown man because I was too busy stewing in my misery.

I was too busy being a failure as a big sister. What if the people that those_ things_ used to be can_ feel_ it? What if they know that what used to be their body is now being used as a means of destruction? What if Will had to go through that because I was too busy feeling sorry for myself?

I was selfish.

_I'm sorry._

I can't be selfish anymore.

"Did you bury him?" I croak.

The man raises his eyebrows at me and doesn't answer. He shifts his weight so he's no longer leaning on the car and extends a hand to me. "Git yer ass in the truck, ya ain't gonna do well in yer state."

A pleasant man, this one is. Clearly.

I look at his hand. It's a big, beefy, scarred up, calloused hand. Then I realize it's his only hand. The other one is gone. Just a stump. A stump that still looks angry red, like it was severed recently. A still-healing stump.

His hand was severed recently. Was he bit?

Pleasant and tough as nails.

My eyes widen. The man chuckles and raises his right arm, the one without a hand. "Yeah, ain't pretty, eh?"

I swallow. Don't think about the stump. That's none of my business, and I doubt he's exactly… _happy_ about it. "What's your name?" I ask instead.

I don't know what he was expecting, but it doesn't seem to be that. Still, he answers me.

"Merle."

"I'm Lucy," I reply and take his hand. And I smile at him. I don't think he was expecting the smile, either. After a moment he helps me off the ground and keeps me steady when I start to sway a bit. "Thanks," I say quietly.

"Ya ever drink 'fore?" Merle asks me.

I shake my head and give a heavy sigh. "Seemed like the right time to start."

He snorts derisively and lets go of my hand. "Git in."

With that, he jerks the door open and gets back into the driver's seat. I walk around and to the front passenger's to find that I was quite right about the size of this truck. Even pulling the handle is a minor challenge, but I have it after a moment. Climbing in is quite literal and I have to pull pretty hard to get the door shut again. As soon as I do, Merle tosses something onto my lap. I pick it up—it's a bottle of painkillers.

"Thanks," I say again.

He shrugs and starts the car. We get back on whatever nameless country road this is. It's all trees and a bit of farmland. No houses. I open the bottle of pills and shake three out. I swallow them each individually, and dry, which I hate. But I don't want to ask for water right now. The man doesn't scare me, but he seems to be pretty upset.

I want to ask where we are, but I know that the answer won't help me at all; I'm not from here. But I need to know something. I need to know how far away my dead baby brother is.

"How far away are we?" I ask after a few minutes. I let the question hang before tacking on "From the house…"

"Coupla hours," Merle replies gruffly.

"Did you bury him?" I ask again. He didn't answer the question before, and I don't like the implications of that.

"Why d'ya care?"

"People are supposed to be buried."

We didn't get to bury Aunt Jenny. We don't get to bury the Dead-Ones. Sami wouldn't stop to bury Fiona. I _wanted _to bury Will.

"Grow up," Merle mutters. I can practically hear him rolling his eyes, which remain focused on the road, straying nowhere near me.

"I am grown up," I snap, leaning forward in my seat so he'll at least have to look at me out of the corner of his eye. "I'm twelve."

Merle snorts and looks at me with a bemused expression. _"Twelve,"_ he mocks before turning back to the road.

"Twelve means that I know the difference between right and wrong," I reply angrily, crossing my arms and pulling my legs up under me. "Twelve means that I can take care of things and make my own decisions and know the ramifications of those actions. Twelve means that I can do things on my own. I'm_ not_ a little kid."

"That so?" Merle mutters. He slams on the brakes of the car and I'm jerked forward, barely refraining from hitting my head on the dashboard.

_And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why we wear seat belts. _

"Fine. Git out then, go be on yer own."

_What?_

I get myself settled and look back at the man. He's staring at me. It's a mean kind of glare that's supposed to intimidate me. But I don't care. If he was going to hurt me he would've done it already, so I know he's not going to do it now.

"I can do things on my own," I growl "It doesn't mean that I _want_ to. And I doubt that you want to, either." I keep staring him down and add "Everybody needs somebody. And neither of us have anybody else."

"Why the hell ya think I ain't got nobody else?" Merle snaps, breaking the stare and slumping back in his seat.

"I just do," I reply softly.

He has the look to him.

The look of loss.

Several moments pass. I eye the gear stick, and then Merle's hand. He isn't making any move to start the car again. I look back at his face. He looks pretty angry, which I suppose might be this man's thoughtful face.

"The kid," he finally says. There's less anger here this time "He yer brother?"

"Yeah," I answer quietly.

"I didn' bury 'im," Merle tells me "But I thought 'bout it."

"Why didn't you?"

"Geeks came," he says simply. I know what he means by 'geeks.' A few silent moments pass. It's a somber silence. Merle has a slightly sad look on his face. Of course, I don't know him at all, so I don't really know anything about his facial expressions, but it seems sad to me. Sad is usually pretty universal.

"Did you have a brother?" I ask hesitantly.

"Still do," Merle mutters.

"You lost him?"

He gives an affirmative grunt.

I look out the window next to me. A single Dead-One is clambering out of the tree line next to the road and attempting to get to us. I'm not worried, but it makes me sad. It used to be a young man, probably handsome. He's wearing clothes that used to be nice. Maybe he was somebody else's Will.

"We should go," I say "They're coming."

Merle grunts again and I feel the truck come to life around me. Before the Dead-One even reaches the pavement we're pulling away, back in motion. I wonder if the thing feels frustrated. I wonder if it feels anything.

I know that I'm still feeling my headache. I'm still feeling a bit of nausea. But it's dulled down; I'm sure thanks to those painkillers.

"Where are we going?" I ask, turning to look at Merle. He shrugs.

"Do you have any sort of goal at all?" I press on. He shrugs.

"Where did you lose your brother?" I ask. He snorts derisively. Still no answer.

"You're not very good company," I state dully. He snorts again.

"Were you able to get my supplies?"

"Mm hm." Even though that's more of a noise than an actual response, I'm happy to get it.

I crane my head around to look in the backseat. One of the bags I've been using is there. Not the one that Sami gave me. Not the one with my name on it.

I think I remember kicking that bag.

"Did you get my journal?" I ask, a few worried thoughts creeping in. My journal had the list of all the dead people. I don't want to lose them, even if the list isn't all that big. I don't want to forget those people.

Merle snorts again. "Ya mean yer fuckin' _diary_? Yeah."

"Stop cursing," I scold, relaxing into my seat "And thank you."

"Ya say that a lot."

"Because I mean it."

Merle rolls his eyes. I don't think I've ever been around someone like this before. Someone who's just kind of… mean. I'm used to nice people. But I know he's just the kind of mean that makes him surly. A mean disposition. He's not going to hurt me, I know that. Dad once gave me a lecture about strange men and how some of them want to hurt little girls. He was pretty vague, but I'm sure that Merle isn't one of those people. He'd have already done it. He wouldn't have saved me. Maybe he would've let Will eat me.

If he saved me, he's not a bad man.

So I do mean it. I am thankful. Even if Merle doesn't appreciate that.

"You're kind of grumpy," I say.

"Yeah?" Merle taunts "Well, the world kinda ended. Case ya didn' notice."

"The world hasn't ended as long as there are still people," I reply "And we're still here."

"Ya gotta pretty sunny fuckin' outlook on life fer someone'oo jus' watched 'er kid brother die in fronta 'er," Merle snaps.

"And you've got a pretty bad outlook on life for someone who's brother is still _alive_," I counter bitterly. "Are you looking for him?"

No answer.

"You don't have to be mean to me."

"Darlin,' ah ain't takin' ya any farther'n yer 'angover gettin' gone and findin' a place ta drop ya off at," Merle informs me "So maybe ya should stop with the chit-chat."

My eyes widen. "You mean you're gonna leave me?" I croak.

He snorts. "If ya think ah'm gonna be travellin' 'round wit' a lil' girl weighin' me down, 'n yer fuckin' crazy."

"But you'd be all alone!" I exclaim, my voice a bit higher pitched than usual. "And I'd be alone too! Why would you do that?"

No answer.

I grit my teeth and try to calm myself down—

_—__I don't want to be alone—_

—because I need to have a rational conversation here. Acting like a scared child isn't going to help anything.

"You don't _want _to be alone." I state seriously. "It's not _good_ to be alone."

"Rather be 'lone'n totin' 'round a 'elpless kid."

"I'm not helpless," I snap.

"'ow much ya weigh?" Merle asks in a mocking tone "Eighty pounds? Ninety? Don' see no gun on ya—"

"If I'm helpless, that's all the more reason that you can't just drop me off somewhere," I argue "And I'm not defenseless… wait… those knives! Did you pick them up?"

"Ya mean ta tell me ya can throw them things?" Merle asks amusedly "'Cause tha's all they's good for, case ya—."

"Yes, I can," I interrupt defensively "Did you pick them up?"

"Course ah did."

"Thank you."

"Stop fuckin' thankin' me."

"Stop _cursing_."

Merle looks at me with an expression of such disdain that I'm honestly surprised. But I know that if he really hated me that much he wouldn't have taken me with him in the first place.

"You can't try to scare me," I say calmly. He looks back out the windshield. "You took me with you. If you didn't care you would've left me back there."

"Ya ain't gotta fuckin' clue," Merle grunts. "Tell me, if ya saw a big groupa men down'a road, would ya go runnin' up to 'em?"

"Of course I would," I reply, knitting my eyebrows together "Why would you pass them by?"

"Ya really ain't gotta fuckin' clue," he repeats with a heavy sigh.

"Would you stop using that word?" I ask, shifting uncomfortably.

Merle snorts and looks at me, shakes his head disbelievingly. Looks back to the road. I sigh. "Let's just stay together…" I suggest quietly "For a few days at least."

He doesn't answer.

But he doesn't say no.

* * *

_Day 72 (?)_

_Dear God,_

_By some grace I'm no longer alone. Even if my company is surly and curses like a sailor I'm thankful for it. Thankful that You gave me something to hold onto._

_Amen._

_Will_


	4. Welcome to A New Life

_Day 73_

_Dear God,_

_Thank You for the safety we've had so far. Thank You for keeping us well-fed. Mostly just out of danger's way. Thank You for the time I've had to grieve quietly. Even though I understand that I can't allow myself to grieve for too long, the weight will still be there, so I pray for the strength to keep on._

_Amen._

_I killed 1, Merle killed 7_

* * *

I'm not entirely sure what possessed me to open up the piano, sit down, and start playing, but it feels good. I haven't played in a while and I don't have the sheet music for what I'm playing, but it's nice to just sit and focus on striking the right chords.

"The hell're ya doin'?" Merle drawls from across the room. I don't stop playing, because I know that this isn't going to be any kind of constructive conversation. I've gotten a bit of a feel for Merle's personality as of late, and I know that we're not going to be having any deep talks anytime soon. It's best to just let the man be.

"Playing the piano," I reply shortly. I was never great at multitasking when playing an instrument, but when I played for Sami she always asked so many questions that I can at least answer quickly.

"Why?"

"Bored."

A few moments pass and I think that perhaps Merle will just let me play in peace, but apparently not.

"What're ya playin'?"

"Moonlight sonata."

"It's fuckin' depressin.'"

"He wrote it for his friend's death."

Silence.

A bit more silence.

I huff, stop playing, and turn in the bench to look at Merle, slung across the couch smoking a cigarette. I told him that he shouldn't, but he just rolled his eyes and did it anyway.

Another thing I've learned is that this man does not like being told what to do, especially by a twelve-year-old girl.

"That was Adagio Sostenuto," I say "Allegretto and Presto Agitato are—"

"The hell you talkin' 'bout?" Merle cuts me off, looking confused.

"The movements," I explain patiently "Moonlight sonata has three movements: Adagio Sostenuto, Allegretto, and Presto Agitato. I was just playing Adagio Sostenuto, which is more somber than the other two. Do you want me to play one of the other two?"

"Shit, I don' care."

I roll my eyes and turn back around. The smell of cigarette smoke is starting to reach me, but I find that I don't care as much as I would've several months ago. Compared to the rampant smell of death, nicotine smoke is actually kind of nice.

I decide to play the third movement, which I was never great at, but Sami always said is more impressive. She said that it sounded like I had two sets of hands whenever I played this one.

I get through the movement without Merle's interruption and start playing Scherzo in E minor by Mendelssohn, which is one of my favorites. I play a few more classics before I decide to start playing something more modern. Love Song by some artist I can't remember. Another one of Sami's favorites.

"Head under water… and they tell me… to breathe easy for a while…"

"The hell're ya playin' now?"

"The breathing gets harder… even I… know… that…"

"Don' wanna listen ta none'a tha' girly shit."

I keep singing, and when I get to the part that's actually about love songs Merle starts groaning rather dramatically. I start smiling as I sing, because I know that to some degree he has to be enjoying this; if he didn't, he would've stopped me playing.

I keep going for a while, alternating between the classics and the more modern songs, occasionally explaining more foreign names to Merle, who continues to act irritated. I'm not sure exactly how long we sit around for, but after several hours Merle's cigarette burns out and he leaves the room.

I take a break from playing and open the window. I let the air filter through the smoky smelling room and take a few deep breaths of the clean oxygen. I'm not entirely uncomfortable with the smoke smell, but I've never really been around cigarettes. I know that most of my family used to smoke, and the last of them stopped when Sami developed a cough, afraid of passing on the same malady to me or Drew. Since then, I never smelled cigarette smoke unless I passed a random person out on the street.

But Merle smokes. That's apparently just… a thing. I have to be okay with it. Really, I'm not entirely… _not _okay with it… but it doesn't seem wise to do something so unhealthy when there are dead cannibals chasing you around.

It doesn't matter. If cigarettes keep Merle from being stressed out I guess it's okay, and I think I'm too old to get anything from second-hand smoke.

I hear the creaking of the floorboards and turn around to smile at Merle, who's returning cigarette-free. "If yer gonna keep playin' ya gotta shut tha' winder," he says as he sits back down on the couch again.

"I thought you didn't like it," I reply brightly.

"Never said I didn' like it," he shrugs.

No, you were just being annoying. Like a schoolboy criticizing the things that girls do just because they're not boys.

"Alright," I shrug, turning back around and closing the window. I latch it and return to the piano. "Got any requests?"

Merle makes a negative sound in the back of his throat so I shrug and just keep playing.

* * *

_Day 74_

_Dear God, I don't really need anything more than the usual right now, except for one thing. I'm not sure I'll be able to hunt. I don't think I can kill a living thing. But Merle said that that's what we're doing, so I pray for the strength to be able to kill an animal._

_Please keep us safe on the hunt._

_Amen_

_2 on the porch_

* * *

"So how long does this usually last?" I ask quietly.

"Less time when ya shut yer trap."

"Snippy."

I don't know why Merle barks at me whenever I talk—I'm walking more quietly than him. He berated me about being 'less than a hundred pounds soaking wet' but I think it helps while trudging through the forest. Merle's quiet for someone so big, but he still makes noise.

I also know that we've been travelling for several hours. We left before the sun was even properly in the sky and it's almost midday now. I don't really know anything about hunting so I don't know if this is normal or if there's less game due to the flesh-eating monsters.

We keep walking and I try not to talk. I want to ask questions, but I hold my tongue. Maybe hunting is about silence.

More time passes, and Merle holds up a hand behind him, effectively stilling me. My legs are affected strangely by the sudden lack of motion, but I ignore them and try to look around. Then I spot what we're looking at; a squirrel. It's on the side of a tree that's maybe ten yards from us. I'm not sure if it's seen us or not, but it's doing that tail-swishing thing.

Merle turns his head to look at me and points at my gun.

My eyes widen and I mouth 'me?' He nods and gives me a look. I give him a look back, but take the small shotgun off of my shoulder and turn off the safety. Merle beckons me forward and I step quietly up next to him. He puts a hand on my shoulder and positions himself behind me, keeping me steady with his hand and raising my arm with his stump.

I press the gun into my shoulder like Merle instructed me earlier, making sure it's snug. Line up the sight with that dot at the end of the barrel; line it up with the squirrel. I feel like it's too far away.

Merle jerks his hand against my side to reposition my stance, which I didn't realize was wrong. I try to breathe and focus on what he taught me earlier; the way to hold my knees and my shoulders and my hips, how to press my cheek against the butt of the gun. I still feel like I'm going to miss. Sami tried to teach me how to use a shotgun properly, but I never really… _got it_.

But I know that I can't hunt with my knives. Little creatures would scurry off before the knife gets hallway there and bigger creatures wouldn't be injured enough. I need to use a gun… or a bow. Maybe I should look into bows. Bows seem less… loud and scary.

"Too far," I say under my breath.

"Shotguns spread out," Merle whispers close to my ear. "You'll git 'im,"

I cringe when I begin to put pressure on the trigger. I remember the one thing that Sami was most adamant about when she tried to teach me this.

* * *

_"There's gonna be a lot of kickback, and it's going to hurt your shoulder, but you can't let yourself be afraid of it," Sami says, adjusting my stance again. "It took me a year and a half to get over that. You can't wince when you pull the trigger or you'll miss your target."_

_"But how do I not wince when I know it's going to hurt my shoulder?" I ask._

_"Think of it like a blinking contest," she explains "That's what I always did. You're just trying not to blink, you're trying not to cringe."_

_"I'd rather just use the knives," I mumble._

_"Better to be prepared."_

* * *

I take a deep breath and try not to think of Sami… at least not in a context that has any kind of emotional connotations. Just remember what I've been taught and focus on hitting that squirrel. How long have I been standing here? It can't be any longer than ten seconds.

Check my aim again, make sure I'm holding the gun right. Deep breath, steel myself, squeeze the trigger—

BOOM!

I don't see if I hit the squirrel because I'm rocked back into Merle's chest and lose most of my grip on the gun. I barely save it from falling out of my hands, but if Merle wasn't right behind me I know that I would've just fallen on my butt.

"Nice shot, darlin,'" Merle drawls. He pushes me to my feet and walks over to the squirrel's tree. Did I hit it?

I follow him and roll my shoulder, trying to get the tingly feeling out of it. My ears are ringing just a bit from the blast of the gunshot, and somewhere in my mind there's a nagging worry that the Dead-Ones heard. We need to get out of here quickly, yet Merle seems entirely unconcerned.

"Did I hit it?" I ask when he leans down next to the tree.

"Ain't dead, but ya stunned 'im," Merle informs me. He's hunched over the base of the tree, I assume around the squirrel, and in one movement of his good arm, along with a strange noise, I know that the squirrel is certainly dead now.

"We're gonna eat it?" I ask.

"The hell else'd we be out'ere?" he asks, standing up. He's holding the very dead squirrel by the tail, and I can see a bit of blood staining its brown fur. I always liked squirrels…

I shrug. "Just asking…"

"Stupid-ass question," Merle grunts "Now le's go, 'fore the Geeks git up on us."

I nod and follow Merle through the woods. Our pace is a bit faster now, obviously less concerned about scaring away game and more concerned about getting away from the dead people trying to eat us.

I stare at the dead squirrel swinging in Merle's hand. He said that I didn't kill it, but if I hadn't hit it, it wouldn't be dead. I hate killing things… I don't even feel bad about the Dead-Ones, but I still hate having to kill them. An animal is different. It was actually _alive_.

I don't know if I'll be able to kill a person. What if I have to one day? Sami killed Aunt Jenny. I didn't see that, but I don't think I'd be able to do it…

* * *

_There's a steady tapping noise, Sami tapping her fingernail against her gun. Then a different noise. A groaning, moaning, squelching kind of noise that incites fear somewhere deep in my stomach._

_Then yelling. Aunt Jenny yelling._

_Aunt Jenny's coming around the corner, limping along due to the bite in her leg, and then a big bunch of the dead things rounds the corner behind her. My sight is obscured by the seat, but I know that there's a lot of them. A really big lot of them._

_And Sami leans out the window, I think to shout some advice to Aunt Jenny, but she shouts something different._

_"I LOVE YOU!"_

_BOOM!_

* * *

"Girl, ya with me?"

I blink and look up at Merle. I didn't realize that I stopped walking. I look around and don't see any Dead-Ones, then look back at the man who's my only companion for the foreseeable future.

"Have you ever killed anybody?" I ask.

He raises his eyebrows at the question, and answers my question in a way that I'm not all too thrilled with.

"Not yet."

* * *

_Day 75_

_Dear God, I woke up in the woods this morning, which isn't something new, but I feel safe and I'm well-fed. That's the new thing. I kept watch for a while last night, but then Merle took over. He was still watching attentively when I woke up, and I realize that as rough around the edges as he is, Merle is a good man, and I'm thankful that You let our paths cross._

_I'm also thankful that You let me enjoy the taste of squirrel, and I hope that I like whatever other strange things that we catch out here. Merle prefers the woods over towns, and I think that there are less Dead-Ones out here anyway, so I'm not complaining._

_Thank You for the past few days of peace, and I hope that they continue._

_Amen._

_12 Geeks and a Squirrel._


	5. Welcome to The Woods

_Day 80 (I think)_

_Dear God, I haven't talked to You in a few days, but there hasn't really been much to talk about. We've just been in the woods, eating little critters that we catch, camping out. To be honest, I kind of like it. The only part that bothers me is waking up from sleeping on the ground, so I guess I pray that I'll get used to that. I also pray that You keep us safe like this. Safe and peaceful and well-fed. _

_Amen._

_1 this morning, 2 yesterday_

* * *

I tuck the journal away in my bag and look at my pencil, which has gotten dull to the point where I almost can't write with it. I frown, bite my lip, and then pull a knife out of my belt and start grinding it against the end of the pencil. It makes a spine-tingling noise and I almost cut myself twice, but after a bit of time, the pencil starts becoming useful again. A bit longer and I'm pretty happy with the results, however shoddy my workmanship is.

I tuck the knife back into my belt and the pencil into my bag and look around. Merle still isn't back yet. A little paranoid part of me is afraid that he left. He's always telling me that I don't _understand _things, and I've started to see that what he's really saying is '_I'm not as good as you think I am_.' Maybe he's right. But he saved me, and that counts for a lot.

Plus, I don't think he'd leave without his things.

Sighing heavily, I sit back against one of the trees surrounding our little campsite. It's peaceful out here, but I've already finished the books that I brought with me and now it's just plain boring.

So what do I do now? Ponder my misery? I've already done quite a bit of that, before and after Will's death.

Will.

Yeah, I've thought a lot about that.

I drank away my misery, which is actually (maybe debatably) a sin, so maybe I should have a long talk with God about that. It's a shame there's no priest to confess to. I liked confession, it always made me feel… light. Like a weight had been lifted off of my shoulders.

"Should I say some Hail Marys?" I ask the sky, then chuckle to myself. I look back to the ground, close my eyes, and fold my hands together.

"Hi, God," I pray "I know that I haven't actually talked to you in a while. I have that journal, but it's not… the same. I haven't actually prayed like this in a few weeks. And you know why."

I bite my lip and move my foot on the ground, tracing patterns. I'm not exactly sure what I should say. A bird whistles in the distance, and I listen for a few seconds before gathering my thoughts.

"I guess I'm seeking forgiveness for what I did the other day… you know, with the alcohol. Getting drunk. I don't really know if that's actually a sin… but I've heard that it is and I feel like it is… I never really had any reason to look it up before…"

I bite my lip again. Why is this difficult? Praying has never been difficult before. It's supposed to be as easy as breathing.

"So I'm looking for forgiveness. There's no priest here to confess to, which is a shame, but I think that telling you is just as good. And you know that I mean it, because you can see everything. And I promise that I'll never get drunk again… I just didn't know what to do with myself…"

That sounds like an excuse.

"What am I supposed to do?" I continue "I mean, surviving is one thing, and I'm… _content _out here… but what now? What am I supposed to do next? Do I just sit out here for the rest of my life? Do I look for my parents? I need…_ something_. A sign. And… I think if I get that sign I'll know that you forgive me."

I sigh again. This isn't a normal kind of prayer and I really don't know how to end it. Just say amen? Seems alright.

"Amen."

Good.

I purse my lips and open my eyes. The world hasn't changed in the slightest. Time ticks on. People are probably dying somewhere out there.

People have always died. It's just more noticeable now.

I spend a few more idle moments simply sitting on the ground. I tap my fingers against my legs, trace some patterns in the dirt, hum some tunes, and idly pray a bit in my head. Pray for myself, for Merle, for anybody I know that may still be alive, for _anybody_ that's still alive.

I know that God is listening. My question at this point is whether he actually cares enough to respond to any of my prayers.

_Why would you do this?_

After a while I stand up and stretch myself out. I look around. Absolutely nothing. Merle said that we would start moving again when he got back, but it's been awhile and I am completely and utterly bored. I almost want to pray some more. I decide not to.

Tap my foot on the ground.

Sing a quiet song.

Dance randomly.

Check that the bags are packed correctly.

Check the perimeter.

Nothing.

Birds chirping.

Sing a song.

Decide to pray again.

Dance again.

Check the perimeter again.

Nothing.

Read everything I've written in my journal.

Cry just a bit.

Wipe away the tears.

"What the hell're ya doin'?"

_Of course you'd come back while I'm crying._

I sniff and wipe away some more tears as I hurriedly shut the journal and stow it away in my bag. "Waiting for you to get back," I reply, not looking up. I stand up and throw my bag over my shoulder, still not looking at Merle, who I know is probably unimpressed with my tears.

"Ain't got time fer cryin,'" Merle says.

"You were gone awhile," I disagree.

"Don' matter," he mutters "Cryin's fer the weak. Ain't got room fer the weak out 'ere."

"I'm not weak,"

"'N stop cryin.'"

I look up at him, standing with his arms crossed and looking just as angry as usual. I still haven't figured out exactly what makes him tick. He's always talking about how I don't understand, bordering on the edge of calling me stupid. But he saved me and he keeps me with him. He hasn't mentioned leaving me again since the car ride, so I can only imagine he _wants_ me to stay. I don't understand him.

But I certainly understand why he doesn't want me to cry.

I just can't help it.

I wipe away a last tear and shift my weight. "So… um… we're going now, right?"

A few moments of silence. Then "Yeah."

* * *

_I'm going to stop trying to keep track of the days. It's late summer 2010, year 1 of the apocalypse._

_Dear God,_

_I'm still waiting for that sign. I'm still waiting for that forgiveness or instruction. I'm still waiting for something. Anything, really, because nothing's happened. And I don't know if I should be grateful for that or not._

_I pray that You give me something, anything. Anything at all. Because I feel like I'm floundering. _

_Keep us safe, and give us something. Please._

_Amen._

_1 Geek. 1._

* * *

"I think I'm going stir-crazy," I mumble, idly twirling a knife around my fingers.

"An' why's that?" Merle asks sardonically, not even looking up from the rabbit he's skinning.

I flick my wrist and the knife flies, hitting the tree beside Merle and sticking. "Because we've been out in the woods doing nothing for what feels like a month?" I suggest in my own mocking tone.

"An' what exactly do ya wanna do 'bout tha'?" Merle mutters.

"I don't know," I shrug "I just feel like we need to do… _something_." I sigh and stand up to go retrieve my knife. "Don't you feel a little bit useless out here?" I grab the hilt of the knife, pull it out of the tree, and stow in back in my belt. I turn and look at Merle's back, waiting for him to answer. When he doesn't, I go on.

"I mean, we can't just sit out in the woods forever. We can't just… float around doing nothing. That doesn't make sense."

When he still doesn't respond, I return to the tarp I was sitting on, huff loudly, then lay down and close my eyes.

The sun beats down on my closed eyelids and I throw an arm over my face, trying to will it away. A few minutes pass and I hear the leaves crackling under Merle's feet as he moves. A different kind of crackle and a bit more heat and I know he's started a fire. He stays silent, and I think that he might think I'm asleep.

A few more minutes and I can smell the rabbit cooking. I smile despite myself, because I've found that I really like the taste of rabbit; it reminds me of chicken.

But rabbit is no reason to stay out here forever. We need to do something, anything. I don't know what it _is_ that I want to do, but I just… we need to do something. I don't like this, sitting here idly and waiting for whatever life throws at us.

Something tickles my leg and I move my arm and open my eyes. Sitting on my shin, flapping its wings idly is a butterfly.

How cliché.

How obvious.

"We should look for your brother." I say quietly.

"An how ya suggest we start tha' lil' adventure?" Merle grumbles.

I sit up and the butterfly flutters away harmlessly. "We should go to your old camp. Maybe they're still there. Or—"

"They better'a cleared out," Merle grumbles darkly, cutting me off "Else they ain't gonna be happy fer what ah got in store for 'em."

"What?" I deadpan "You're gonna kill them?"

Finally, Merle turns to me. His face is so undeniably full of rage that I consider for half a second that I might want to be scared of him. "Angel, they handcuffed me to a fuckin' roof an' left me ta die. Ya 'spectin' me ta not wanna kill 'em?"

I will _not_ be afraid, no matter how intimidating Merle is. He saved me, he's good, so he wouldn't hurt me. He just doesn't want me to argue with him.

I stand up, cross my arms, and give him my best firm face. _"Yeah."_

Merle stands up and looks down at me, his muscly arms not crossed, and gives me a look that I'd expect to get from an angry dog. "Ya really ain't got no fuckin' clue how the world works, do ya, sweet cheeks?" he spits "Lemme give ya a quick lesson; ya cain't trust nobody, 'specially the people that tried ta kill ya once before."

"I'm not saying that you have to forgive them," I say, not backing down "But killing people doesn't solve anything. You want to find your brother and that's a good starting place. Going in there screaming and—"

"Ya think they jus' gonna lemme in there open arms!" Merle yells. I can tell now that he's _trying _to make me nervous or afraid or _something_. He's getting closer to me, trying to make me back down. But I won't.

"Why did they handcuff you in the first place?" I ask.

Merle stares at me for a few moments, eyes bulging, before he turns his back to me and stoops down to check on the rabbit.

"I want an answer," I say quietly.

"Ya ain't gettin' one."

"Makes me think that you might be keeping something about that whole ordeal from me," I reply "Like maybe they weren't just a bunch of cold-hearted people that left you there to die, like maybe you brought it on yourself—"

And he's up again, close to me again, angry face on again. I'm starting to think that _I'm_ bringing this on _myself._

"Yer a fuckin' kid!" Merle yells in my face "Ya don' get ta talk ta me 'bout what I do!"

"Why?" I ask.

Merle's face turns bright red.

"And why are you yelling, for that matter?" I ask. "I'm not trying to start an argument with you. I just want to know what I'm helping you with."

"Ya ain't doin' nuthin' but takin' up space!" he roars in my ace.

I remember something that Sami once told me about bullies in public school. They want to make you feel small because they feel small themselves. She also said that they don't usually grow out of it. So that just makes Merle a bully.

"Are we back on that thing about me being weak?" I ask "Because I thought we'd already been through that."

His face is somewhere around purple now, and without warning he turns and stalks away, out of our campsite, and into the woods.

I raise my eyebrows at his retreating form and consider going after him, but that's silly. I know that he'll be back. So I plop myself on the ground with an exasperated sigh and start tending to the rabbit.

I don't really understand Merle. I've never been around someone like him before. There's a lot of anger there, a lot of rage. But angry people can be good, too. I know they can. He just needs someone to help him.

I'll help him. And I'll start by helping him look for his brother.

* * *

_Late Summer/Early Autumn, Year 1/2010_

_Dear God,_

_Merle's still mad at me, so I pray that You give him the grace to let go of all of the rage that seems to be residing inside of him. I also pray that You give us safety and good luck on our new mission—to find Merle's brother._

_Thank You for keeping us safe, and thank You for the butterfly, however cliché of a sign that is._

_Amen._

_2 in the woods, 4 on the road._


	6. Welcome to The Old Camp

_Late Summer/Early Fall, Year 1/2010_

_Dear God, we're almost to the place where Merle's camp used to be. It's really close to Atlanta, and I'm worried about running into any Dead-Ones, so I pray that you keep us safe._

_Amen._

_6_

* * *

Merle is becoming clearly tense the closer we get to the camp. His grip on the steering wheel tightens, and I can feel in in the way the truck is driving. His face is dead set in determination, and his left foot is rapidly tapping against the door.

The path is dirt, uphill, and surrounded in trees, and I think that Merle takes it just a bit too recklessly. I don't comment, because he's proved thus far to be a proficient driver, but I do worry just a bit.

After a few minutes I can see a break in the trees up ahead, and out of the corner of my eyes I see Merle's knuckles turn white from gripping the steering wheel too hard. I wonder if he's going to stop the truck so we can walk in, but that doesn't seem to be the case. He keeps driving until we're out of the trees and in a large clearing.

This looks like it could've been a popular camping site at one point. The clearing is fairly sizable, and there appears to be some sort of quarry off to the right. I can see the shimmering light of water reflecting off the stone walls of the quarry. A lake. There's also a grassy hill nearby. This would've been a nice camping spot. Surely it would've made for a nice camp.

Now an _empty _camp.

A_ very_ empty camp.

Merle stops the car, puts it in park, and gets out without a single word to me. I swallow hard and open the door, keeping a hand on my knives just in case.

The distinct smell of death lingers here, which makes me a bit nervous. If Merle's brother is as tough as him I really shouldn't be nervous, but… I think that surviving right now is partially down to luck. Luck is something that you can't control.

I wrinkle my nose and start breathing through my mouth as I follow Merle further into the clearing, towards what looks like an old fire pit. There's one torn-up tent far to the right of me, and beyond the fire pit there's a pile of slightly bloodstained clothes. Pools of dried blood dot the clearing, and far away from us is a large pile of ashes that I can only assume was used to burn bodies.

Merle stops when he gets to the fire pit. He doesn't look around, just stops and stands there. I approach him hesitantly and put a hand on his arm. He still doesn't move.

"There's no supplies," I say "So… some of them had to have gotten away. Your brother could've."

He doesn't answer. I try to think of something else to console him, but before I can he turns on his heel and starts walking again. It takes me a moment to realize that he's heading for the big grassy hill.

He's walking faster than before, and I almost have to jog to keep up, but I manage, and after a moment I realize why we're heading for the hill; barely noticeable are some piles of dirt. Fresh dirt these days means graves.

When we get to the top of the hill Merle stops again, and I get a good look at this impromptu graveyard. It's nothing but piles of dirt with roughly fashioned crosses, but that's certainly better than a lot of ways the bodies could've been dealt with. I count the piles quickly—fifteen. Fifteen bodies. Fifteen graves.

I swallow hard and my eyes start to water for no real reason. I look at Merle, who's staring at the graves with the same look of grim determination he's been wearing for the past hour or so. Once more I try to think of something to say, and once more he interrupts me.

"Stay 'ere," he grumbles before turning on his heel and stalking back down the hill. I watch him leave, heading towards the truck. He passes the door and goes to the bed instead, leans in, and produces two tools… shovels…

_Oh no._

_Oh no no no._

I can't do that…

He gets back to me fairly quickly and holds out the smaller shovel, but I shake my head vigorously. "No," I say.

"Why the 'ell not?" Merle barks.

"I can't dig up graves," I explain shakily, staring at the shovel with apprehension.

"Ya can an' ya will," Merle grumbles. He all but throws the shovel at me and I catch the handle before it falls into me, but I stay in place as he walks to the first grave and sets his shovel in the dirt, raises his foot…

"You can't!" I exclaim "People were buried here! It's disrespectful!"

"Yeah?" Merle says. He doesn't stop, and I almost wince when he shovels the first pile of dirt and throws it behind him. Despite only having one hand he does this quite effectively. "An' what if ma baby brother's in here?"

"Y—you said that he's tough," I stammer as Merle gets another clump of dirt out of the grave "Tough like you."

He doesn't answer, and just keeps digging.

My eyes get watery and this time I let the tear fall down my cheek. Because I get it, I really do. If this was one of my siblings I would want to know. Despite the fact that it's disrespectful in a million different ways, I get it.

"We cover them back up after," I say, my back still turned. Merle gives a noise of assent. I take a deep breath and turn around. Amazingly, he's already halfway through with the first grave. It's almost a bit impressive, because instead of digging conventionally, he has to use only one hand a lot more feet than usual. I watch him dig angrily for a few moments before I step over to the second grave and get my shovel ready, close my eyes, and start digging.

It's hard work, and I'm sweating within a few minutes. The sun beats down and a few flies start coming by to harass me. Before I'm half done with my grave Merle's done with his first and he calls out "Not 'im."

I grunt in reply as I continue digging and Merle moves on to the third grave.

As I dig, I'm struck by a rather bizarre and twisted truth; I'm lucky that my family is dead. I don't have anybody to worry over or be scared for. I only have to worry about myself. It makes me feel terribly guilty, and a few tears start mingling with the sweat.

Fiona, Will, and Aunt Jenny are dead; I know that for a fact.

I heard Sami scream.

I thought Drew was bit.

Julie ran off on her own.

Jamie was with Drew.

My parents were in a traffic jam. A traffic jam, full of people. And they're too soft.

My family's all gone. It's just me now. And in a bizarre, twisted way I'm lucky.

The digging takes a long time, but we plow through most of the graves before the sun is too high in the sky, still with no sign of Merle's brother. At one point he says "Not Daryl," and I realize that he's never actually told me his brother's name before.

When he gets to the last grave I start filling in the others, trying to quell the guilt over the fact that I dug up people's final resting places. I mean, I'm not a grave robber or anything, I did it to confirm identities, but I still feel… dirty.

"Dear God," I say under my breath as I start shoveling the dirt back into the grave of a young blonde woman "I'm sorry about this," _shovel and grunt_ "I don't know if this is actually a sin," _shovel and grunt_ "Never really had any reason to look it up before," _shovel and grunt_ "But I feel bad," _shovel and grunt_ "So I think that it might be," _shovel and grunt_ "Which is why I'm praying now," _shovel and grunt_ "Because if this is a sin," _shovel and grunt_ "I'm really sorry," _shovel and grunt_ "And I'm looking for forgiveness," _shovel and grunt_ "And I'm trying to make up for it," _shovel and grunt_ "By covering the graves back up," _shovel and grunt_ "Amen."

"The hell're ya talkin' to?" Merle calls.

"God!" I call back.

"He ain't listenin.'"

I ignore him.

Keep shoveling.

"Ya pray 'lot?"

"I'm Catholic."

A few moments of silence pass and I shovel another clump of dirt in.

"Ya mean them girls in the short skirts?"

I shove my shovel into the ground and turn to Merle, dumbfounded. I know my face is probably pretty comical right now. "Really?" I ask indignantly.

He gives me a look of feigned innocence and raises his hand. _"Sorry,"_ he grins.

I lean over, grab a small clump of dirt, and throw it at him. It doesn't get far enough to hit him, but the intent is there. He chuckles and starts filling the grave back in.

Inexplicably, a small smile breaks on my face. I don't know if he was actually joking or not, but if he was it certainly had the desired effect.

I grab my shovel and continue filling in the hole.

That _had_ to have been a joke.

If that wasn't a joke I weep for humanity.

I pause. I should already be weeping for humanity. _Way to ruin a somewhat funny moment for myself._

I set the shovel aside with a heavy sigh and sit down in the dirt. I grapple in my bag for a few moments and extract a bottle of water, take a few sips. I miss cold water.

After stowing the bottle back in my bag I sit for a few more moments and re-tie my ponytail, hiking it higher on my head and getting the loose, sweaty strands off of my face and neck. Just as I finish, Merle lets out a fairly loud whoop and yells "Ain't him!"

I grin. Because that's the last grave.

Merle's brother got out of here alive.

* * *

_Late Summer/Early Fall, Year 1/2010_

_Dear God, right now I'm praying that my muscles will stop hurting. I don't think I've ever worked so hard in one day as I did today. But I'm happy, because Merle knows that his brother is alive. He's a lot nicer for it, too. So thank You._

_I'd also like to pray for safety, as usual, and for forgiveness if digging up those graves was wrong. I know that I prayed to you earlier, but I kind of wanted to make sure You got the message. Also, digging up graves felt like the kind of thing I should document in my journal._

_Thank You for keeping us safe. Please let us remain that way._

_Amen._

_15 People and 3 Dead-Ones_

* * *

I strum idly on a guitar we found in this house as Merle smokes his cigarette. He still has a goofy grin on his face, high off the knowledge that his family is still alive.

"Can ya play tha'?" he asks, motioning to the guitar with his stump.

"A bit," I shrug. I can play most instruments that don't require a mouthpiece. Sami always called me a prodigy. I smile wryly at that memory, because when we were little she always got jealous about it.

"Know anythin' good?"

"Nope."

Merle chuckles and takes another drag of the cigarette.

"What's the plan now?" I ask "How do we find him?"

"Ain't findin' 'im," Merle srhugs "Ain't no way to. We'll run inta each other 'ventually."

"So the plan is to do nothing?" I deadpan.

"Perty much."

I sigh heavily and set the guitar aside. "I can deal with that," I mumble "But we need some sort of goal."

"Why's tha'?"

"Because if we don't have a goal we're just going to be wandering around aimlessly, or sitting in the same place forever," I say "I know that I'm not going to college or getting married or anything, but I don't want to spend my life sitting around doing nothing."

"Alrighty then," Merle says, and I can almost _hear_ the eye-roll in his voice "Whaddya wanna do?"

I purse my lips. A goal. Something to keep us moving. Something that I want right now.

"I want to find two things," I say after a few moments "A Bible. A good translation of it, and a Catechism."

"A wha'?" says Merle, looking confused.

"A Bible and a Catechism."

"I heard ya," he replies, raising his eyebrows "The hell's a cadda-cizzum?"

"It's like… a book of Catholic teachings," I explain.

"Why'd ya need tha'?" he asks.

I shrug. "There's a lot of things I need to look up that I've never had to look up before."

* * *

_Late Summer/Early Fall, Year 1/2010_

_Dear God, here's a funny request, I need help finding a Bible. That's a new one. Normally I'd just have to walk to the next room. But the Bible should be easier than a Catechism, and I want to find both. So help me with that quest, and please keep me and Merle safe._

_Also, thank You for the guitar._

_Amen._

_7 Geeks._


	7. Welcome to The Church

_Late Summer/Early Fall, Year 1/2010_

_Dear God, I hope that we get lucky today. But at the same time, I hope that we don't, because having a mission is a good way to keep yourself going, and I don't know what our new mission would be if we find both the books today. Anyway, I'm praying for strength, because we'll probably be running into a lot of Dead-Ones today._

_I pray for my safety and Merle's as well._

_Amen._

* * *

"Wanna go through the Sanctuary or the classrooms?" I ask Merle as our truck meanders down a winding driveway through the woods. I smile when the church comes into view.

"Hell, I dunno."

"Please don't curse while we're in a church," I sigh. Merle scoffs at me and I ignore him. The church before me isn't particularly large, but it's big enough that it could contain a large amount of Dead-Ones. It probably will, too, if all of the broken down cars in the parking lot are any indication. It makes sense that people would flee to a church when things got bad.

The entrance to the Sanctuary is clearly the front entrance, featuring a large, ornate wooden door with a circular stained glass window above it. The roof peaks up into a large spire that's pretty typical of any kind of church.

_Pretty, _I think as I get out of the truck and start heading for the front entrance. It's small, but definitely pretty. It probably used to be a nice place.

I frown at the door and hear Merle's footsteps on the sidewalk behind me. I grip the big copper handles and pull lightly, only to be met with resistance. Of course it's locked.

I press my ear against the crack between the doors and knock. The thuds resound through the wood and I wait. A few moments pass before I hear a softer version of the signature moan that accompanies a Dead-One. A few more seconds and there's more. Something bangs on the door.

"At least a few in there," I say, backing away from the door. "They probably took refuge in there, but one of them was infected. Kind of sad."

I turn around and skirt past Merle, jump down the little flight of stairs and head around the right side of the church where the sidewalk extends down the side of a wall of stained glass, the path decorated by flower bushes. All of the flowers are dead now.

As I walk down the path I can see movement behind some of the stained glass. The Sanctuary must've had more people than I thought…

I shake my head and just keep walking. I glance behind me to make sure Merle's coming, which he is, and keep walking until I reach the canopied entrance to the rest of the church. This door is pretty standard of modern architecture, looks like glass, with some black metal surrounding it and making one line across the window and creating the weird curved handle. I pull on said handle, but like the front doors, this one doesn't budge.

I knock a few times on the door and wait. A few moments pass and then one Dead-One ambles up, spots me through the door, and immediately starts banging against it, pressing its face against the glass, trying its hardest to get a meal.

I sigh at the dead creature that used to be a woman as Merle walks up behind me. "I got 'er," he says. Confused, I watch as he lifts the crowbar he brought along, and before I can fully register what he's doing, he's thrown it against the glass, making a big crack, but not breaking it.

"Merle!" I exclaim. He ignores me and slams the crowbar forward again. This time the glass breaks, and the woman on the other side starts snarling and leaning through the broken door, impaling herself on the shards of glass left behind. Without ceremony, Merle drops the crowbar, grabs the knife out of his belt, and stabs the dead woman in the head. She slumps over the door frame and I cringe.

"Merle!" I exclaim again.

"Wha'?" he asks innocently, reaching through the broken glass to unlock the door.

"You can't just… break into churches!"

"Ain't tha' the whole reason we here?" Merle asks, looking at me indignantly.

My shoulders slump as I sigh again. "Whatever." At least we're not breaking into the Sanctuary, just the offices and classrooms. That has to count for something, right?

Merle drags the woman through the door and throws her to the side, then reaches through the now empty door-frame to unlock it. He throws it open and I step in first, looking down the hallway to my right tentatively. One hallway forward, one hallway to the right… the one forward branches off again…

"Looks clear…" I say, tentatively stepping inside. It looks clear, sure, but that woman couldn't have been the only person in this part of the building…

Merle steps in much more confidently than me, his crowbar at the ready in his hand. I put a hand over one of my knives and take a deep breath. Clearing a house is one thing, but this is a big building.

"Whatcha waitin' for?" Merle hisses.

I shrug and direct my feet along the hallway that runs straight from the door. The doors are all on the right side, which makes it easier to glance inside of them, and I spot a pile of what looks like Bibles before we're even halfway down the hallway.

I open the door and glance around the room, but there doesn't appear to be anything hiding in here. I glance behind me at Merle, who's leaning against the wall looking bored, before I enter the room and head straight for the stack of books. Like I thought, they're Bibles. I grab two and stuff them into my bag before moving on to the bookshelf with a few more selections, most of which are religious books of some kind. I grab the complete collection of Narnia because it's there, keep looking, and—Catechism! A few of them. I glance over the titles and pick the one I like best, shove it into my bag.

"Got 'em!" I call quietly, standing up. I glance around the room once more before heading back to the door, only to find that Merle's gone.

I knit my eyebrows together and look up and down the hall. "Merle?" I call, still quiet. Nothing moves. I step into the hallway. "Merle…"

I hear a moan before a Dead-One comes ambling around the corner from the left. It used to be a man, and its guts are hanging out of its stomach. I sigh resignedly and set down my bag, grab a knife, aim it—

It falls with a thud, and I sigh again. I really don't like having to kill things.

I pick my bag back up and head over to the Dead-One to get my knife. I wrench it out and wipe it on the poor man's pants, but don't tuck it back into my belt. I take a few steps forward and look around the corner, but there's nothing. "Merle?"

Still nothing.

I step to the side and open the broken glass door, take a few steps out, and look around. "Merle?" The truck is still in the parking lot. I can vaguely hear the Dead-Ones still pounding on the big wooden doors of the Church.

There's a loud thud to my right and I jump, but it's only one of the Dead-Ones in the Sanctuary, pounding on the stained glass.

I bite my lip and tap my foot on the sidewalk, starting to feel a bit nervous. A bit of paranoia is creeping up now, jumping around and making up the worst possible conclusions. Merle didn't leave, because the truck is still there. So where is he? I didn't hear yelling. Why didn't he tell me he was going somewhere?

I hear something move behind me and I spin around with my knife ready, only to breathe an immediate sigh of relief.

"Where were you?" I exclaim, lowering my knife. Merle raises his eyebrows at me but doesn't answer, just opens the door and starts walking down the sidewalk back to the truck. "Merle! Where did you go?"

"Ain't nona yer business."

"Seriously? That's a stupid excuse."

"Shut yer mouth."

"No."

Merle turns on his heel and looks back at me, an angry look on his face. He takes a step forward and sticks a finger in my face. "You ain't ta boss a' me, lil' girl," he growls.

"You don't scare me," I reply calmly, keeping eye contact. He doesn't answer and after a moment I add "That's why you act all grumpy—right? You're trying to scare me?"

Merle lets out a frustrated noise in the back of his throat that sounds kind of like a growl, and says "Now ya listen 'ere. We came 'ere so that you could get them stupid books, an' ya wouldn' be alive righ' now if it weren't fer me, so ya need ta start keepin' yer damn mouth shut when I tell ya to!"

"Don't talk to me like that," I reply, crossing my arms "And don't act like I'm a burden to you. We've been together for more than a week, and you haven't let out a peep about dropping me off somewhere, so—_hey_!"

I scramble to catch up as Merle turns on his heel and starts stalking away. Unfortunately, his legs are a quite a bit longer than mine, so I have to jog to catch up. "You can't just walk away when we're having a conversation!"

"'S over," Merle replies, not even looking at me "If ya wan' me ta leave ya here, fine. Ah will."

"That is _not_ what I said!" I shout.

"Nope, s'what_ ah_ said."

"So you're really going to leave the only living person you've seen in a month!" I argue as we approach the parking lot "You can't just go at it alone!"

"Yeh said yerself that yer perfectly capable," Merle says, the last two words sounding more like mocking "Well so am ah."

"I know that I can take care of myself!" I exclaim "But taking care of yourself and being alone are two different things! I do _not _want to be alone! And _you_ don't either!"

Merle stops and rounds on me again, points his finger in my face again, leans in closer again, still trying to intimidate me. Maybe the threat of being alone is looming over me, but it works just a little bit this time. "Girl, yeh don' know shit 'bout me!"

"I know that you dug up fifteen graves just to make sure that your brother was alive!" I snap "And I know that you could've left me in that house all those weeks ago but you didn't, because you're a good person, and good people need other people to keep them sane!"

Merle scoffs, steps back, and rolls his eyes. "The hell's wrong with ya?"

"What?" I ask "There's something wrong with me because I have faith in humanity?"

Merle's silent for a few moments, just staring at me, and then he shakes his head. "Tha's somethin' ya gotta get rid of," he pauses and adds "Le's go."

I smile. Maybe Merle doesn't have faith in people, but he's not abandoning me. "Alright, let's go," I say happily. "I'm sorry that I yelled at you."

He rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to say something—

_—CRACK—_

_—THUD—_

—and suddenly the moans of all the Dead-Ones who were banging on the Sanctuary door is about ten times louder.


	8. Welcome to Danger

_He rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to say something—_

_—CRACK—_

_—THUD—_

_—and suddenly the moans of all the Dead-Ones who were banging on the Sanctuary door is about ten times louder._

I feel the gasp leave my body and then Merle clenches his hand around my wrist and is dragging me back towards the church, away from the group of Dead-Ones suddenly blocking the path to our truck.

It's amazing how fast they seem to go, how fast they seem to block all exits when there're a lot of them. And there are a_ lot_ of them. How many Dead-Ones could the Sanctuary hold? How many dozens of Dead-Ones are coming for me now?

Merle and I reach the door, he wrenches it open, shoves me inside, and then closes it behind me. I have just enough time to scream "MERLE!" before he's running down the left side of the building, shouting obscenities to the herd of Dead-Ones. It takes me a moment to realize that he's trying to lead some of them away. We're splitting up, but so is that group.

I don't like it, but maybe my chances are better this way. I guess Merle thinks so, otherwise he wouldn't be doing this in the first place.

I take a deep breath and draw one of my knives before I turn and run down the hall. Merle's shouts fade but the moans and groups and squelches don't. It feels like they're just getting louder. I need to find a way out of here. I need a back door or a room with a window. Is that Merle's plan? To meet around the back of the building?

I run all the way to the end of the hallway and I'm met with a branch: right or left. I pick left, toss a glance over my shoulder before turning the corner, and I see that the Dead-Ones have reached the door, but they're getting bottle-necked. They're still coming, but I'm a little bit safer than I was a minute ago.

Just a bit.

Don't think about it, just get out. I need to find a way out. If there are no backdoors, I need a window. A window will work just as well as a door. Better than a door, actually, because the Dead-Ones can't get through.

There's a gunshot outside and I gulp.

I run down the hallway, glancing through the doors as I go. All of the rooms back here have windows. I can get out through these—

The hallway in front of me is suddenly cluttered with a half dozen more Dead-Ones, spilling out of another room. I turn on my heel and run back the way I came, almost at the branch in the hallway—

As I pass the corner, I see the Dead-Ones out the corner of my eye, they're right there and one grabs my arm—

_—it feels cold and hard and alien, sticky and wet and disgusting. It doesn't feel right, it doesn't feel like a human hand should, and I swear it shoots adrenaline right up my arm and into my heart—_

—and I scream loudly. I don't even mean to scream, it just claws its way out of my throat like this dead man is trying to claw my skin away from my arm. I twist away and turn back, throwing the knife in my hand with a sound that seems completely foreign in my voice and I don't even wait to see if it connected (even though I know it did) and run down the hallway, away from the herd, and_ please_ don't let there be any more hiding in any of these rooms.

_Please, please, please God!_

I'm almost at the end of the hallway and I need to pick a room. I need to get in that room and lock the door behind me and get out from there.

I all but kick open the second to last door in the hallway and shove it closed behind me, feeling pretty lucky that I didn't shut my fingers in the thing as I did so. It has one of those button locks on the handle and I press it, but I don't feel any safer than I did out in that hallway.

I should feel at least a little bit safer, shouldn't I?

I collapse against the door, trembling and taking deep, shaky breaths. I need to _calm down_. This is not productive.

There's another gunshot outside.

That doesn't help.

I jump when I hear the first Dead-One pound on the door to the room, and then close my eyes, feeling silly. What? Did I forget that they were there?

Okay, two windows. They're high up and look like I could barely fit through, but they're there and I'm small. I can do this. I can.

I get to my feet, albeit shakily, but I'm up. And I can do this. _I can do this._

The first thing I need to do is break the window. I can climb up there and get out just fine, but I need to break it. I've never broken a window before. I can't recall the last time I broke something on purpose; that kind of behavior was frowned upon in previous society.

I search around the room for a few moments and choose a group of figurines depicting a manger scene. I feel kind of guilty about it, but they're heavy and have sharp edges, and that's what I need.

I start throwing them at the window, sincerely grateful for my fantastic aim. It cracks further with every throw, and I think that I might just be able to do this.

There's another gunshot outside.

The Dead-Ones bang against the door, and I swear I hear the wood crack, but I shake it off.

"Sorry, Mary," I whisper as I throw the next figurine. Jesus in the manger. Deep breaths, I'm sure that nobody up above is really offended; I'm in a life or death situation.

The statue hits the window with a bang and a crack, and baby Jesus is the one that breaks the window for me. I grin.

There's another loud bang on the door and this time I'm _sure_ I hear the door crack. The groans of the Dead-Ones seem to be getting louder.

_Deep breaths._

There's already a table under the window, but it's not quite enough. I grab a chair and stack it on top of the table to use as a step, but I still can't just climb out. There are a few shards of glass stuck in the sill, and it wouldn't be too great if I went through all of this to die by cutting an artery.

I shove my bag through the window, hop back off the table, cross the room, and grab a lamp. I don't even bother unplugging it; I just yank it away from the wall, which makes me feel kind of tough for some bizarre reason.

I climb back onto the table and start smashing the pieces of the window away with the base of the lamp. It's harder than I thought it would be—_why do I have to be such a weakling?—_but after a minute or so I have it. It seems like all of the glass is gone, but I'm not sure. There could be some tiny jagged edge buried right on the surface of the pane that's going to cut me as I escape.

I shake my head and take some deep breaths, because that is _not_ the thing to think about. I don't have a choice here.

I toss the lamp aside, climb up on the chair, and look through the window. There's a bit of a field and then woods. There are bushes below the window. Bushes are scratchy, but they'll at least break my fall.

The Dead-Ones moan and I think the door cracks again.

_Need to hurry. Deep breaths._

I unbuckle my knife belt and toss it through the window, past the bushes. It lands on the ground just past the shrubbery. I can see my bag mixed in with the green.

Just need to hoist myself through. It's like pull-ups… even though I never did pull-ups. But I _did _walk around with babies and toddlers attached to my hip all day. That's got to give me some upper body strength, right?

I brace my hands on the sill and push hard. I definitely see what Sami used to complain about. What was that thing they did in public school? Presidential Fitness Day or something like that. Sami always complained about it and told me I was lucky to be homeschooled.

I focus on that as I pull myself up on shaking arms. Sami did that a lot, complaining about public school. She complained about the teachers and the way they taught, the punishments, the curriculums, the kids, the tests. She complained about everything and told me she wanted to be homeschooled. We'd laugh about it. I focus on the laughing.

I get my shoulders through the window and this is where it gets tricky. Most of my body weight is resting on my ribs, and it's uncomfortable bordering on painful. I cringe and push my hands on the wall, trying to get through the rest of the window. It hurts. I think something might be cutting my side.

I get past my ribs, my stomach, and then my hips. The window sill digs into my hip bones and hurts even worse than when it was on my ribs, but I ignore it and keep climbing, because I'm almost through. I just need to turn as I fall, so I land in the bushes on my side.

There are more gunshots somewhere in the woods.

At least I know that Merle is still alive.

I keep shimmying through the window, almost past my hips, and I'm just hanging on by my legs. I can touch the bushes with my fingertips, and it'll be easy to turn as I fall, land safely on my side or my back. I'll make it—

_—BANG—_

—and the Dead-Ones broke through the door. No no no no no no no—

I try to hurry the rest of the way through, maybe I should just ignore landing safely, even if I fall on my head it'll be better than getting eaten alive—

A cold, slimy, clammy hand closes around my ankle and I scream out of habit, kick out of habit, and that knocks me loose.

I watch as the bush rushes at me face, and then everything is hurting…

_Hurting, hurting, hurting._

Head is pounding away. Like when I got drunk. Like when I cracked my head open.

Pounding, pounding, pounding.

_Hurting, hurting, hurting._

Not just my head. Other places, too. My chest. My abdomen. My side. My arms. My legs.

Everything.

Hurting, hurting, hurting.

I groan and try to open my eyes, but everything is cloudy, unfocused. Like my eyes aren't… _working_. Not quite right. Head pounding.

Loud noises that make my head hurt worse. Snarling and moaning. Bangs and pows.

I cover my face with my hands and groan. The noise vibrates up and through my throat, into my head, making my head hurt even more, but it feels good. It's less confusing with the light gone. Keep my eyes closed, hands over my eyes.

Wasn't I running? Running from Dead-Ones? That seems right. I should probably keep running. But can I run with my head like this? Everything hurts; I don't think I can run if everything hurts.

I notice that something is hurting me right now. Something is digging into my right side, prickling me. What is that? Something prickling me…

The bush. I fell into a bush.

I can get out of the bush.

I roll over and feel as the uneven prickles turn to soft, even grass. Green grass. Nice, pretty, soft grass.

Things hurt a bit less without the prickles. My head still pound, but it's easier to focus. There's something else wrong with my side. A cut? Maybe. It stings like a cut. Also my ankle. My left ankle hurts. Did I twist it? Didn't a Dead-One grab my ankle? I think I twisted my ankle when I got away from it.

Head, side, ankle.

But mostly head.

I get myself to sit up, keeping my eyes closed, groaning, and tuck my head between my knees. That helps a bit.

I sit for a while. I'm not sure if it's really a while, but it feels like that. It might only be a little bit of time. It might be a while. But finally it stops hurting quite as much.

I take a deep breath and open my eyes. My head is still tucked between my knees, so the light isn't all that bright, but it stings. I close my eyes again, open them again, and take more deep breaths.

I was running from Dead-Ones. I hit my head because I fell out the window. There could be more around here. I need to find Merle.

Find Merle. Need my knives and my bag.

I swallow, take a deep breath, and raise my head. The light burns through my head and I wince, but try to keep my eyes open. I can't afford to keep my eyes closed for long.

I take more deep breaths. I seem to be doing a lot of that lately. Then I stand up. I pull my shirt up and examine the side that's stinging—there's a gash running across my right side, right under my ribs. It's not deep, but it's long and wide, and it _hurts._

I push away the pain and pull my shirt back down. I can fix that later.

My knives are only a few feet away, and it only takes a few seconds to grab the belt. My head swims when I duck down, but I ignore it and buckle the belt around my waist. Grab the three knives that fell out of their spots when I threw the belt and tuck them back in.

My bag. My bag is in the bush. I turn and see it, beneath all of the branches and brambles and prickles. I stoop down with a sigh and a groan. I'm almost laying on my belly, but I need to be that low to dig under the branches. How did the bag get so far under the bushes? Does that even make sense? I don't know. Will my head please _stop hurting_?

My hand latches around the strap and I pull it out, feeling pretty accomplished. I take a few deep breaths and brace myself to stand up—

Something presses into my back and pain shoots up my spine, into my head. I cry out as something grabs my arm. I should panic, but it's not cold and clammy and gross. It's not a Dead-One.

_Does that mean I shouldn't panic?_

The pressure on my back is removed and I'm pulled over, onto my back, to get a look at a group of people. A group of men. None of them look particularly friendly. Some of them look gleeful in a way that I don't understand.

And for the first time since this all started, I'm not sure that finding living people is a good thing.


	9. Welcome to A New Group

I count six men. Most of them are middle-aged, but two younger ones are standing near the back. The one holding me down is probably the oldest, and his face is so close to mine that I can smell his terrible breath. He's laying half on top of me, holding my right wrist in one of his hands and holding down my left arm with his knee, pressing into the bone and making my whole arm tingle with pain and numbness.

"Look'y here, boys," says the man holding me down.

"Let go of me," I croak. My voice sounds higher-pitched than normal, warping in my throat. The men all laugh.

"Don't think so, sweetheart," the man says. He shifts, grabs both of my wrists and twists me around again so I'm face-down in the grass. I kick and wriggle my wrists half-heartedly, but the man's a good deal stronger than I am. "Why don't you tell us your name?"

I grit my teeth and turn my head; most of my view is obscured by grass, but I can see the shoes of some of the other men. When I don't answer, a knee digs into my back and I grind out _"Lucy."_

"Pretty name," the man replies. I feel his fingers flittering over my lower back and then a small thump that I'm pretty familiar with; drawing a knife from my belt. "This sure is something," he says. I imagine that he's twirling the knife around, getting a good look at it. "You any good with these?"

I'm remembering a few things now. Merle telling me I shouldn't just wander up to groups of men and Dad telling me that some people want to hurt little girls. I still don't know what they mean, but I feel like I've found some people that fall into that category. And I'm pretty sure I'm not going to get out of this by being _nice_.

So maybe it's Merle's influence on me when I reply "I could hit you between the eyes with one of them, if that's what you mean."

"Pretty damn useful," another man says.

"Shut up, man," someone else replies.

I hear a sigh. "I'm gonna go find Joe," says the first new voice. I see a pair of shoes walking out of my line of vision. I wriggle a bit and the man holding me down presses harder on my wrists and digs his knee farther into my back. _"Stop!"_ I yell loudly, a whine of pain getting mixed into the shriek.

In barely a second, the man's flipped me around again, but I barely get a moment to observe the new view before he's smacked me across the face so hard that I cry out and I'm seeing starts again. Pain shoots through my brain and my headache returns with a vengeance.

I try to kick again and then something's pulling my hair and something else is putting a painful amount of pressure on both of my legs. _"Stop!"_ I screech again, wriggling and fighting as much as I can, but I'm not getting anywhere.

"She's got some fire in her," someone says "Who's first?"

First to _what_? I don't know, but I don't like it. Whatever being first means, it sends a bolt of fear and dread into my gut.

"I am!" says the man holding me. My vision is still spotty, so I can't see him very well, but I can feel him leaning closer "I caught her!"

"Any of us could've caught her!" someone else says "She fell on her fucking head!

"But I'm the one that _did_! So I get her first!"

"That's not fair!"

"This ain't about fucking fairness!" the man holding me down roars. My vision clears just enough to see him leaning away from me, addressing someone else. His hold on my wrists loosen just enough that I wriggle one hand free, grab a knife from my belt as he's turning his head back to me and before I even know what I'm doing—

I've moved the knife up. Into the man's chest. I just stabbed him. In the chest.

The man's hold on my wrists loosens and he almost looks surprised before droops over, half on top of me, and he's just… _dead_. Like that. I killed him just like that.

I let out a small sound of surprise before someone else yells "You fucking bitch!" and I get a rough kick in the side. I cry out and try to get away, but the pressure on my hair tightens and someone's pulling me up to a standing position and then somebody else slaps me and the stars are back in my eyes and somebody else kicks me in the knee and then my hair is yanked again and there's something ripping my shirt away and somebody is grabbing my belt and I'm just screaming screaming _screaming_—

I get a good kick in at someone, but the hands just keep pulling at me and I can't even properly see what's going on. How many people are here, surrounding me? What are they _doing_? What is going _on_? _"STOP!"_ I screech. I keep screaming. I think they might be laughing. One of them grabs me around the waist and my feet leave the ground and I start kicking—I think I catch someone in the face but someone else grabs my ankles and then my jeans are being yanked off of me and I keep screaming and then someone else screams—

_—"__STOP!"—_

—_BOOM!_—

_—"__Holy shit!"—_

—and they drop me.

I hit the ground and I let out a small yelp, but there aren't any more hands all over me, which is worth it. People are yelling now, and I'm trying to catch my breath, and my vision is still splotchy from being hit, and my shirt is gone and my jeans are around my knees—what were they going to _do_ to me?

They're still yelling. Something about a gun and death and a man called Frank and something about claiming, and then there's another shot and someone says that everybody needs to calm down.

I blink a few times as my vision starts clearing up. There's an even larger group of men now, several yards away from me. None of them seem to be paying too much attention to me, so I take the opportunity to pull up my pants and try to get away, but everything hurts and I don't even think that I can stand. Am I bleeding? I think I might be bleeding. Where's my _shirt_? On the ground, completely trashed.

And then I see the man that I killed, sprawled across the ground, pale as can be with my knife sticking out of his chest.

I killed him.

I killed someone.

And I throw up.

I can't even think straight. Am I going to die? Didn't I hit my head? Are these people going to kill me? What were they going to do to me, anyway?

Something touches my shoulder and I immediately lash out. My elbow makes contact with something and I hear someone yell "Holy shit!" and my vision is blacking out again and someone else is chuckling.

Am I going to die? I don't want to die. I don't even understand what's happening.

And then there's a different voice. "Girl, calm the hell down." Merle. Merle's voice. How did Merle get here? What's even going _on_? My vision clears up once more and I see Merle's face, looking pretty angry, and he reaches out for me—

—my vision blacks out again, and I think I do, too.

* * *

_I'm looking for the remote, wanting to change the channel. Sami turned on the TV and left to get a snack, and I don't know what she did with that remote. I don't feel like watching the news, which happens to be what's on. I finally find it tucked half-between two of the couch cushions and look for the right button. I sigh, because despite the fact that I've now found the remote, I still have no idea how to work it._

_Sami comes back in, a soda in each hand and a bag of chips tucked under her arm. She frowns at the news report and hurriedly sets down the snacks. "Give me the remote, now—"_

_I do so and she changes the channel right away. I knit my eyes together, trying to figure out what's making her so antsy. In my head, I go over the words in the news report; something about a 'rape and murder' in some part of the town. I frown. "What's a rape?" I ask._

_Sami purses her lips and tilts her head to the side, which is something she does when she's thinking or frustrated. I'm guessing it's the latter. "Don't worry about it," she says._

_"__But now I want to know."_

_"__And I'm not going to tell you—look, a Doctor Who marathon."_

_"__But I want to know."_

_"__And I'm not telling you."_

_"__Sami—"_

_"__It's a sex thing, okay, don't worry about it."_

_Sami's deliberately not looking at me now, adjusting the volume on the remote as the Doctor babbles to Rose about something onscreen._

_I cross my arms and pout, hoping she'll notice when she turns around. She does and sighs._

_"__Lucy, I don't want to talk about this."_

_"__I just want to know. They said it on the news, what can be so bad—"_

_"__Lucy, this isn't something I want to talk about with you," Sami sighs, running a hand through her hair. "It's just… it's something that bad men do. Okay?"_

_Her cheeks are a little bit flushed, and she's doing everything that I know means she's flustered or frustrated or upset: running a hand through her hair, pursing her lips, head tilted to side, wiggling her right foot around._

_"__Okay," I sigh._

* * *

I think somebody's carrying me. I think it must be Merle.

It's not like I'm jerked out of some reverie and memories are coming flooding back. The memories are sitting there already. They're still confusing, but they're there.

Merle was there at some point, so he must be carrying me now. Are we with those men? I'm still confused. There were men attacking me, and then more men out of nowhere who weren't attacking me. Some shouting and gunshots.

So now I'm being carried. I passed out. Okay.

I open my eyes slowly and see nothing but a shirt. I turn my head up and get a better view—the woods. And a person that is _not_ Merle carrying me.

I let out a small squeal and my arms and legs start moving without my telling them to—I almost fall out of the man's arms but he leans forward and I'm more… gently dropped.

Someone reaches for me and I blindly swing my arm, making contact with the side of what feels like a face.

"Fuckin' hell, girl!" someone screams.

Merle screams.

Merle's voice.

I look up and see Merle looming over me, crossing his arms and wearing an expression of anger. "Calm the hell down."

"What?" I squeak out.

Merle rolls his eyes and looks away from me "Go on," he says. I actually look somewhere other than him and see the person who I suppose was carrying me; a teenage boy with shaggy blonde hair. He's average height and average build, but he's a bit handsome, and I think that's what Sami would've said about him. He'd probably look better if it weren't for the nasty bruise on his cheek.

I don't remember this boy from what happened before.

But then I look beyond the boy, where a few more people are standing and watching. Beyond them is a larger group that's still walking away. I recognize some of the men, and they're all men, but most of them are strangers to me.

And I'm confused.

The people behind the boy turn and start walking with the others, but the boy keeps his eyes on me, looking concerned.

"Go on," Merle barks.

The boy jumps and gives me a kind of nod before following the rest of the group.

I can tell that we're not getting left behind by the glances a few of the men keep sending our way and their leisurely pace. Merle just wants to talk to me without them hearing.

Right now, I think I'd really like that.

I get to my feet slowly, trying to ignore the fact that I'm still hurting everywhere. It's mostly my head. I remember falling on my head trying to get away from the Dead-Ones in the church. Where are we now? It seems like the woods. A quick glance round confirms that.

I also notice that I'm wearing a shirt again. I wasn't wearing one before because it was ripped off of me. This is my spare shirt, the one I kept in my bag. My bag. Where's my bag?

I glance at Merle, then at the group, and see that that boy has it. He was carrying me and my bag. Okay.

My knives are gone.

"What's going on?" I croak.

Merle shakes his head, takes a step in the direction of the group, and gestures me to follow. I nod and do that. We walk even slower than the men leading us, keeping a good distance away from us. Every minute or so someone cranes their head to look at us.

Checking to see if we're still here?

"Who are they?" I eventually ask. Quietly.

"Jus' sum guys," Merle shrugs.

"Did they save you?" I ask.

Merle snorts, and after a few moments of silence he makes his reply. "Ah ran into half ah their group. Said they wan' strong guys, asked me ta join up with 'em. Told 'em sure, but ah had a kid. Asked if ya could take care ah yerself, I said yes, they said fine. Other half ah the group found ya 'fore my half did."

I bite my lip. "What were they trying to do to me?" I ask.

Merle cusses under his breath and looks angry again. "Ain't ya twelve?" he asks.

"Yeah."

He shakes his head and curses under his breath again. "Stop that," I mutter. He snorts. "Ah ain't explainin' this ta ya. Jus' know that 'bout half ah these guys'd hurt ya 'gain'f they get the chance."

"But _what _were they trying to do?"

"What'd I just fuckin' say?"

"That you weren't going to explain it to me," I reply through grit teeth, crossing my arms. _That's stupid,_ I think childishly.

"Good," Merle says "We're gonna be stickin' with these guys fer a bit, but we're breakin' off as soon as we can, gottit?"

"Yeah."

"Good. They got sum rules to 'em 'bout how ya get stuff. Ya wan' it, ya claim it. Just say it loud an' it's yers. No lyin' or stealin.' Leader says it keeps 'em from gettin' in fights e'ry four hours."

I remember back to the church, when those men had just caught me. It's a bit fuzzy around the edges, but I remember them arguing about who was going to go first… I'm still not sure what they first _to_, but… "Why didn't one of them just claim me?" I ask, knitting my eyebrows together. "They were arguing about me."

"People're diff'rent," is all Merle has to say about that, and he's looking angry again.

"Okay," I sigh. We keep walking through the woods. It seems like an hour or so before a Dead-One lunges toward the larger part of the group up ahead. They dispose of it easily, and I look at Merle.

"Where are my knives?"

I feel a bit surprised before he answers, because when I talked, the 'my' sounded a lot more like 'ma.' On top of everything else, is Merle's _accent _starting to rub off on me?

"Got'em here," Merle says, reaching a hand into the bag on his shoulder. He produces my belt, which I take gladly, but I notice that a few are missing. I reach it around my waist, find the right notch, and as I clasp the belt I say solemnly "I killed a man."

"Ya killed an ass'ole 'oo deserved ta die."

"Still a man," I reply.

"Sure," Merle shrugs "But it ain't somethin' ya should be feelin' torn up 'bout."

I bite my lip and toy with the hilt of one of the knives. I feel a lot more normal with the belt sitting there, a comforting weight. I wish that a belt of knives wasn't comforting.

Merle and I have talked about murder before. I asked if he'd killed anybody and he said '_Not yet_.' I didn't like that answer then. I still don't like it, but I understand it. I know that there's nothing wrong with killing whilst defending yourself but there's still a heavy weight in my chest.

"Sami killed her mom." I say suddenly.

"What?"

I open my mouth to repeat myself before I realize something; I never told Merle about Sami. Or Drew, Julie, Fiona, Jamie. He knows a bit about Will… but I've never really talked to him about my past.

So in some random patch of woods, following a group of men who want to hurt me, I tell Merle the story of everything that's happened to me so far.


	10. Welcome to The Claimed House

_Late Summer/Early Fall, Year 1/2010_

_Dear God, a lot of things happened today. I got what I wanted with the Bible and the Catechism, but I also got attached by some people… I don't really understand. And Merle won't explain it to me. But we're with this group now. I suppose we're safer from the Dead-Ones than we've been for a long time, but most of the men make me nervous. _

_Also, I killed a man. His name was Frank. He was attacking me, but I killed him. I don't know what to do about that. I don't know how to feel about that. Am I supposed to mourn him? I don't know._

_The Catechism says that what I did was justified. If you're being attacked by someone, you can kill them in self-defense. But that doesn't help how I'm feeling about the whole thing._

_I'll try to pray. For guidance, for the loss of the guilt hanging over me. I know that praying to supposed to be the solution to every problem, but it doesn't feel like that right now. What do I know when praying doesn't seem to be enough?_

_Amen._

_Frank._

_At least 5 Dead-Ones, but probably a lot more._

* * *

After walking for what feels like forever, we reach a clearing, and the leader of the group declares that this is where we'll be setting up camp for the night.

Merle and I set up near the edge of the clearing while some of the other men start lacing up little noise traps between the trees. I watch for a while, because it's something I've never thought of before, and it's pretty clever. A Dead-One can still get through in most places, but no matter where they come from you're going to get woken up by cans or wooden spoons or bits of metal clanging together.

Then Merle tells me to stop looking at them. I roll my eyes at him.

The teenage boy who was carrying me comes over an hour or so after we've made camp and hands over my bag. I smile and thank him, but he gets scared off pretty quickly by Merle's scary mean face.

I roll my eyes again.

"If you don't like him, why would you trust him to carry me?" I ask dully.

"He ain't like summa these guys," Merle replies "Don' mean ah wan' 'im near ya."

"He seems _nice_." I reply bitterly "You can't be mean to everyone."

He doesn't answer. I cross my arms and make a pointed 'harump' sound, but he doesn't even look up. I roll my eyes again, stand up, and start walking towards the woods.

"Where the hell're ya goin'?" Merle barks.

"I have to use the bathroom," I reply, turning back to look at him. I feel a bit smug that I actually got him to look up, if even for such a stupid reason.

"No ya don'," he says "Sit yer ass back down."

"No." I reply, crossing my arms and making a face.

Merle makes his own face, but his face is a bit angrier and looks fairly exasperated. "Now ain't the time fer bein' a brat."

"I'm not being a _brat_," I mutter "I have to use the _bathroom_."

Merle says some curse under his breath before getting to his feet with a groan. "I'm comin' with ya."

I roll my eyes. "Fine, but you're not watching."

* * *

The light fades pretty quickly. I get in a bit of a diary entry before I fall asleep. Most of it is about Frank, the man that I killed when I was being attacked.

I don't know what to do.

I shouldn't feel guilty over someone who was attacking me. I don't feel guilty about killing the Dead-Ones. Merle says that I should just let it go and move on, but the two of us are a lot different.

I can tell that Merle was a somewhat mean man before the world ended. But he's changed. So have I. Everybody's changed along with the world, which is a strange thought. It's a new world. The men here, these_ bad_ men that Merle's making sure I don't talk to, they don't really seem mad that I killed a member of their group.

No, mad isn't the right word. They're definitely mad, but it seems like the kind of anger that won't fester into a grudge. It's strange. Is that just another factor of them being bad men? I wish that somebody would explain anything to me. I wish that Merle would explain anything to me. He treats me like a child.

Am I a child? I don't know anymore.

* * *

_Early Fall, Year 1_

_Life seems like it's just the same actions on repeat. I'm trudging through the woods, following a group of people whose names I don't even know. It's a bit like the days I spent in the woods with Merle, the aimless wandering, the not really having any sort of goal._

_Merle keeps saying that we're going to leave. Eventually. But I don't know when eventually is. Knowing that would be helpful._

_Would it? I don't know._

_I guess I just want things to be different. I don't feel safe. Feeling safe is a lot to ask for these days, but I feel even less safe right now than I usually do._

_And there's still that nagging __guilt__. I keep telling myself that feeling guilty is stupid, but it just sits there. I don't even know what to do with it. I __killed __someone. I don't feel like I can come back from that. I'm forever changed. Everything is different._

_Did Sami feel like this when she killed Aunt Jenny? She never showed it._

_I need help. Please. That's all I need. I need a sign or an answer or something to give life meaning right now because I don't know what to do with myself._

_Please._

_Amen._

_7_

* * *

It almost feels a bit weird, leaving the tree line and stepping onto a road. A real paved road with asphalt and a yellow line and everything.

"Oh look, civilization," I mutter.

"Hush."

I roll my eyes and shoot a look at the men in front of us. The nearest one is a good ten or twenty yards away. I look behind us, where two of the men are dawdling so far behind I can barely see them through the trees.

"So," I say quietly, turning to face Merle again "Are we _leaving_ them now?"

Merle purses his lips and makes an irritated noise in the back of his throat. "Dunno yet."

"When _will _you know?"

"Ya ever stop yappin'?"

"When people answer my questions."

"Yer a fuckin' hassle."

"And you don't answer questions," I mutter, crossing my arms. There's a faint snarl behind us and I turn to see a Dead-One emerging from the woods on the other side of the street. It's a woman in a nightgown, with stringy hair covering her most-likely deformed face. She's far enough away right now that none of us are giving her all that much thought, but someone will put her down before too long.

I turn back to Merle again "Really though," I say "We've been with these people for—what? A week? Two? I don't even know their names. I'm pretty sure they think I'm your daughter—"

"They do."

"Fantastic," I roll my eyes "Scavenging time away in the woods is one thing, but I don't want to do it with a bunch of people I don't know anything about. And don't tell me that they're dangerous again, because if they are, why are we still—"

"We're still with 'em 'cause it'd be more dangerous tryin' ta get away from 'em."

"Why?"

"They'd hun' us down."

_"__Why?"_ I ask exasperatedly.

"'Cause tha's who these guys are," Merle grumbles "S'what they do."

I take a deep breath and stay silent for a few minutes as we walk down the road. Eventually, I take another look at the Dead-One ambling along behind us. The two men back there are actually taunting the thing, laughing and wiggling their fingers at her. She swats and misses and they keep laughing.

But that thing used to be a _woman_. She used to be someone's daughter or sister or mother or friend. Seeing people do that, treat her like that, it makes me…

Mad. That's what it makes me.

I stop, turn on my heel, grab a knife from my belt, and before Merle can yell at me I throw. It doesn't get very close to either of the men's heads, but they both jump and cry out as it passes them and the Dead-One crumples.

I stalk over to retrieve the knife from the creature. "Eventually," I say "She would've caught up with you."

Really, it's an excuse. I know that they wouldn't take kindly to me ruining their fun because it's _disrespectful._ But I think I sound pretty confident in myself, and neither of them say anything to me.

I return to Merle, who's glaring angrily, and he doesn't say anything either. We walk in silence for several more minutes before I finally say "What?"

Merle shakes his head. "Yer gonna git yerself killed."

_And God will be waiting for me, which is more than I can say for you._

I almost spit out the words, but I hold my tongue. Why am I so angry? That's not like me. Why would I even consider saying words like that?

I take a deep breath and count to ten in my head, but it doesn't help anything. Isn't it supposed to? That's what they always did in TV shows.

I keep my eyes closed for a while, walking based on the sound of Merle beside me. That works a bit better than counting to ten. But eventually, the leader yells that we've reached our camp for the night, and when I open my eyes I find that I'm still irrationally angry.

But at least there's a house for our camp tonight. It's an old farm house, the kind that's two or three stories with a wraparound porch and whitewashed siding. I look around to examine the surroundings that I missed with my eyes closed, and realize that we've actually walked down a fairly long driveway. I can still see the road from here, but we're mostly surrounded by fencing and trees.

"Claimed!"

I swivel my head around to one of the group members, a lanky man who's just picked up a wood-cutting axe from a stump. He throws aside the hoe he's been using for a weapon and twirls the axe in his hands, looking fairly pleased with himself.

"Fan out!" calls the leader of the group "Find what you want!"

What do I want? Books, probably. I doubt that any of these men will take something that I want before I get there.

Most of the men make for the front door of the house, shoving each other none too gently. I'd say good-naturedly, but it seems like they're just tolerating the presence of the others. Still, I can go in behind them, maybe find a book or a blanket or a pillow or something else that I want.

I glance at Merle, who seems like he's intent on going inside the house as well, so I just keep trailing along beside him. Before we reach the porch, I hear someone else yell "Claimed!" and then the call just keeps repeating in different voices, echoing out of the house. "Claimed!"

"What are they doing?" I ask Merle.

"S'how they 'cide who gits what."

"Seems a bit archaic."

Merle scoffs at the 'big word' as he usually does. "Works for 'em."

"I never noticed," I say, knitting my eyebrows together. We've been travelling with these guys for a while, how could I not notice something like this?

"In the fuckin' woods," Merle replies "What're they gonna claim? Dirt and deer shit? Nah. An' I did all yer huntin.'"

"Oh." I say quietly. We reach the porch and climb the steps, and I add "It seems weird."

"Like ah said, works for 'em."

"And for us, too?" I reply.

Merle gives me a look. "Fer now."

Someone inside yells an enthusiastic _"Cuh-laimed!"_ and I sigh.

"Whatever."

* * *

_Early Fall, 2010_

_Dear God,_

_It's become apparent to me now that the world has fallen into complete and utter disorder and barbarism. 'Claiming.' It makes sense in principle, but there are so many flaws in this system that I can't even begin to count them. What if two people claim something at the same time? What if you claim something and nobody hears you and they take it? Where does the line draw at what __can __be claimed? But whatever, I managed to claim myself a blanket and a pillow, and even though I knew that nobody would take them, I claimed some books, too._

_Anyway, I hope that Merle and I can leave these people soon. I don't like it here. I just want things to go back to the way that they used to be. I want my family back._

_I think I might be too angry. Is that what happens when you kill someone? You get angry? Maybe that's the next stage after the sadness and the guilt._

_I need help, don't I? I guess I do. Can I have help? Please?_

_Amen._

_8_


	11. Welcome to Enlightenment

_The men are arguing, and when no one's looking I grab the knife and wrench it upwards, digging it into the man's chest. He looks at me for a moment, his face almost surprised. I burn the face to memory before he falls away, blood spurting from the wound. Blood is spurting everywhere. Blood is coming from the dead man, and the other living men, and from the ground and the trees and the Dead-Ones and from me—_

I wake up with a sharp breath and a jerk. The rational part of my brain relaxes within a second, but everything else is till on high alert, even as I maintain a peaceful sleeping position. My heart pounds and sweat coats my forehead. I take a few deep breaths, rub a hand through my damp hair, and sit up. The blankets fall away and the brisk autumn air hits me, cooling me down.

I hate nightmares. Especially nightmares about things that have happened…

And could happen again.

There's a loud sound and I jump before realizing that it's just Merle letting out a particularly loud snore. I settle down again and roll my eyes, leaning forward and resting my face in my hands. I'm still tired, I can feel it in my bones and my neck and my eyes, but there's no way my brain will let me get back to sleep after that bloody dream.

I throw away the blankets and stand up, stretch my muscles, grab my light coat and put it on.

Merle snores loudly again and I glance at him, sprawled out completely across the bed he claimed. It doesn't look like he's moved since he fell asleep however many hours ago. I roll my eyes once more and think _At least someone's happy._

I stand in the middle of the room for a few moments, not entirely sure what to do. When Merle snores again I make up my mind—grab my knife belt and my bag—and quietly slip out of the room.

The house is dark and silent. The only sign of life is the one man curled up on a window seat in the hall, dead asleep and breathing quietly.

I stretch my muscles against before creeping down the stairs to my left. It's an old house, do the stairs creak on almost every step, but I don't hear any movement elsewhere in the house, and I get to the bottom of the stairs without incident.

I know that there are supposed to be two men on the front porch, keeping watch, so I take a few steps forward and peer through the stained glass on the front door. Both of the men are reclined in rocking chairs, and are either asleep or pretty well relaxed. I roll my eyes at the idea that they're asleep. _Idiots._

Why am I so angry?

I head to the right and into the dining room, where nobody has set up camp, and settle into one of the chairs around the table. I dig into my bag and pull out a candle and lighter, blindly unwrap the plastic, then light it. Now that I actually have some light I inspect the wrapper—_clean cotton_. I sigh heavily, because whenever Sami took me shopping she'd drag me into some candle store, and scents like that were her favorite. _Clean cotton._ I could never even smell it.

I throw the wrapper aside, grab a coaster from the middle of the table, and carefully place the candle on it. Then I dig through my bag and pull out the Bible I procured from the Church however many days or weeks ago. I haven't gotten very many chances to read it.

So I sit and read for a while, trying to sink into the stories like I always used to. It's harder to just _embrace_ religion these days. I hate that it's harder for me to focus on it now. Aren't you supposed to lean on your faith more than ever during a crisis?

Something in the house creaks and I freeze.

It's an old house. A creak could mean anything.

A creak could also mean a Dead-One. Or a person.

Or Merle coming to yell at me, that's always a possibility.

But still, it could be nothing.

I bite my lip and hold my breath, waiting. When I hear another creak I almost wince, and when there's a third I reach for one of my knives. On the fourth creak I wrap a firm hand around one of the little daggers and turn my head to the entrance of the dining room. Wait.

A few more creaks that are definitely footsteps. And whoever it is knows that someone is in here—the candle will give me away.

A few more creaks and I can see someone at the bottom of the stairs. He calmly turns, walks towards me, and enters the room.

He's not the most threatening man of all the men in the group; average height and weight, mid-fifties or so, with wiry grey hair and a mustache. There's something a bit different about his face compared to the others. Maybe a bit more intelligence. I think he's the leader.

"Thought you weren't supposed to leave your dad," the man finally says. I'm confused for half a second before I remember Merle telling me that they think I'm his daughter.

"I couldn't sleep," I answer, trying to feign a bit of a Southern accent. It's not all that difficult, but I've never been good at lying, and I don't know if it shows.

The man shrugs and steps forward, then stops and grins when I tense up. "You can relax," he chuckles.

"I've found that relaxing doesn't do you much good these days," I reply.

"True enough," the man says. He steps forward again, but moves to the side much more clearly, intending to pull up another chair at the table. "But you don't need to worry about me." He picks a chair that isn't right next to me, which I definitely give him points for. He sits down with a tired grunt and then smiles at me. I don't really know how I feel about his smile.

"What's your name?" I ask.

"Joe."

"I'm Lucy."

"I know."

"Oh," I bite my lip and lean back into my chair. After a few moments I release the hold on my knife, mark my place in the Bible, and close the book.

"Bit of light reading to clear your mind?" Joe asks.

"It used to work pretty well," I mutter.

"Not so much now?"

"Nothing's as easy as it once was," I shrug. "Religion included."

Joe smiles again, and says "There are a few things that are easier these days."

"The world ended," I say skeptically.

"And some of us are doing better now than we ever did before."

"I don't think I am," I answer immediately.

"I did say some of us," Joe replies. "Unfortunately, you have a built-in disadvantage."

"Being a kid or being a girl?" I ask.

"Being a kid doesn't have to be a disadvantage," Joe says. His smile's gone now, and it feels like a very serious conversation. "You're old enough to handle yourself—but you're still built like a toothpick."

"And a girl," I mutter distastefully.

"And a girl," he concedes with a shrug. "Another unfortunate thing for you is that most of the men who do better these days are the ones that would take advantage of that."

There's that vague allusion to _something _again. Something that men would do to me that I still don't understand because _nobody will explain it to me_. It's starting to get pretty exasperating.

For a moment or two I consider asking Joe. He seems like he'd tell me. But if the topic makes Merle act so uncomfortable then maybe it isn't the kind of thing I should ask a stranger. I wish I could just know.

"You're not one of them?" I ask instead.

Joe smiles again. "I could be," he says, his voice tinged with a little bit of _something_ "But you haven't done anything to make me mad. You take care of yourself. Why would I want to hurt you?"

"But I killed Frank," I blurt out. Which probably isn't the kind of thing that I should've said, but it's eating at me. It's been eating at me for days and weeks now, making me sad and angry and unsettled and tired and bitter and confused—so I just blurted it out.

I really don't think I should have.

"Frank was an asshole," Joe states simply, shrugging "And not just for what he was planning on doing to you. He was lazy, he complained, and he didn't contribute to anything. But he never broke the rules, so I wasn't gonna do anything about it. Hell, I was almost happy to hear you'd put him down."

"That's terrible," I mumble weakly, staring at the candle flame.

"That been bothering you?" Joe asks.

"That's why I couldn't sleep," I whisper "He may have been a horrible person, but he was a person and I_ killed _him. I ended his _life_. I've seen people die before and I've seen people kill other people before but I've never done it myself and I can't get over it."

The room is silent for a few moments and then I hear the chair creak. I turn my head to look at Joe as he stands up with a grunt, cracks a joint in his arm, and pushes the chair back in. "I'll leave you to your reading," he says "But if you want a word of advice—you have to get over it. Ain't no place in this world for people who can't handle death."

"I can handle death," I say monotonously, turning my gaze back to the candle "I can't handle being a murderer."

Joe actually snorts. I hear him take a few steps and he says "You're no more a murderer than I am a little girl," then a few more steps and he's gone.

What an enlightening conversation.

I watch the candle burn for a while. I don't really know how long. I can't tell if it's melting or not, because I keep my gaze on it. That must be like the boiling water rule.

Eventually, there's melted wax all over the coaster and the candle's half burned-out. How long have I been sitting here?

I sit up and tuck away my Bible and lighter, blow out the candle, and wait for it to cool down. I can re-use it for something else later, and it was silly to let it burn for so long anyway.

When I stand up I realize just how tired I am. I wasn't sitting here all night—it's still dark out. But I was here for a good long time, and I didn't really achieve whatever I was hoping to accomplish in coming down here in the first place.

I suppose that the conversation I had with Joe was good, though. I learned a bit more about this group and he gave me some things to think about. He _knew _Frank and said that he was a bad man. It stands to reason that Frank wasn't a good person, and I can accept that. I killed a bad person in self-defense. But is it really so easy to just let it go? It can't be. If it were that easy I wouldn't be sitting here right now.

But maybe I'm lingering on it because I'm so… _moral_. Maybe I don't want to let it go. Maybe it's some sort of punishment I've concocted for myself.

I sigh heavily as I make my way up the stairs. Maybe right now I should just try to sleep. I'll have plenty of time to think about this when we're walking for hours tomorrow.

I open the door to the room Merle and I claimed, praying that it doesn't creak. It doesn't. It closes quietly, as well, and I glance at Merle—spread-eagled and snoring in exactly the same position as I left him—quickly before I put aside my bag, jacket, and knives and settle back into my makeshift bed.


	12. Welcome to The Basement

_Fall, 2010_

_Dear God, thank you for the talk with Joe last night. I think it helped. Maybe. I don't know. I still feel pretty moody, but that might just be because I'm almost a teenager._

_Anyway, thanks. I needed it. I continue to pray for safety. It's not just from the dead, though, it's also these men. Joe was nice enough, but most of them scare me. They look at me strangely, and even if I don't understand why I should be afraid, I can definitely see it._

_So… maybe I'm praying that Merle and I can get away from this group._

_Amen._

* * *

I barely even have to think about my aim anymore. It's like the knives just find their way to wherever it is that I want them to go.

I wonder if there were knife-throwing competitions before the world ended. I would have been amazing in those. If only I knew what a weird talent I had. Of course, it's not weird anymore. Now it's useful.

The makeshift target on the side of the house is pretty marked up by the time I throw my last knife. I have nine of them now. I should find more—this belt can hold twelve. I have a tenth knife stowed away, but it's just for stabbing, not for throwing. I'm sure I could throw it if I was pressed to, but these little daggers are best.

I step up to the wall to gather up my knives, inspecting the blade of each one as I pull them out of the wood. I think I need to sharpen them. How do you sharpen throwing daggers? I'll have to ask Merle.

After I've gathered them all I head back to the shade of the tree and get ready to throw again. This is the fifth round of this. I could probably stop practicing at this point, but it feels good to stretch my muscles like this. My options for entertainment are pretty much limited to practicing or reading.

I flex my wrists and arms a bit, and as I do I realize that across the yard, a few of the men are watching me. I already knew that Merle was out here—Merle hasn't let me out of his sight—but these men have only just arrived outside. I glance at Merle, who's talking to one of the older ones—Bill, Bob?—and doesn't seem at all concerned with the other half dozen that have gathered to watch me practice.

He's so weird.

I ignore my new spectators and continue throwing. It's all becoming muscle memory at this point, barely even a challenge. I think that's probably a good thing.

My practice goes on for a while. I keep throwing and retrieving, the men keep watching. Despite the crisp autumn air I start to work up a bit of a sweat. I glance back at the group and see Merle still talking to that same man. I haven't seen him talk with these guys very much… what could they be talking _about_?

More throwing. The next person that finds this house is probably going to wonder about all of the marks on the siding.

I'm retrieving my knives when the call goes out. _"Herd!"_

* * *

"They're still fighting them off," I mutter, watching the chaos outside through the narrow, dusty basement window.

"They'd be running if they could," says one of the men trapped down here with me. Dan, I think.

I don't know what possessed me to run into the house. These men mean nothing to me; I didn't have to go inside to warn them. But off I went, because isn't that just who I am? I'm incapable of leaving people behind.

Now I'm stuck in this basement with potentially hostile people and no Merle to protect me, Dead-Ones ambling about outside. Outside with Merle.

Joe is down here, along with that boy that carried me through the woods that first day we were with them. But there are three others. I'm not entirely sure of their names. The one that spoke, who I think is Dan, is fat and grumpy-looking, with stringy brown hair and a bald spot. There's also a tall, skinny one with one of his front teeth missing whose name I think starts with a 'ch,' and a muscly dark man whose name I absolutely don't know at all.

I glance at Dan and bite my tongue because I shouldn't answer, however much I want to shout _Merle wouldn't leave me!_

Teenaged boy answers instead, with "My dad wouldn't leave me," except he doesn't sound quite as sure of his dad as I do of Merle.

"What's your name?" I ask, looking back out the window.

"What?"

"Your name," I repeat "I don't know it."

"Corey."

I nod and keep staring out the window, watching the fight that rages on. The group of men outside is just getting crowded by more and more Dead-Ones. It's a small herd, but it's still a lot, and even with how many of them there are…

_BOOM!_

We don't hear very many gunshots, but everyone so far has startled me. This one is no different—I almost fall off the chair I'm standing on.

When there are so many Dead-Ones surrounding the ring of fighters that I can no longer see them, the tight, nervous clamp on my chest bunches up even further. "We should help them," I say quietly.

"And how do you think we should go about that?" asks Joe sardonically.

"I didn't say I had a plan," I reply, resolutely keeping my gaze out the window. I don't want them to see the tear running down my cheek. I can't let them know that I am utterly terrified right now.

* * *

_Dear God, I don't have my diary with me right now, so I'm just gonna write this down here to tuck away later. Please get us out of here, and please keep Merle safe. Keep me safe. I'm afraid._

_Amen._

* * *

At some point the fighting drifts away, Merle and the rest of the men are pushed into the woods by the herd, and all that's left behind is a body, a dozen Dead-Ones clawing at it, and even more dozens of actual dead littering the yard.

I want to leave right away. I need to see if that's Merle. Joe tells me to not be stupid—we'll spend the night in the basement.

I want to scream and throw a tantrum, but I don't.

I also don't sleep. Even as Dan and Ch-whatever and the last man snore away so loudly I'm pretty sure any Dead-Ones outside could hear them, I don't let even the faintest traces of tiredness seize me. I'm determined to stay awake.

I see the boy—Corey—fall asleep at some point after watching me with a concerned, albeit drowsy, look on his face for several hours. Joe remains awake as well, on the other side of the room. He's technically on watch. I don't care.

"You so worried you're gonna give up your rest?" he eventually says.

"I'm not giving up anything," I mutter "I couldn't sleep right now if I wanted to."

"Do you remember that conversation we had?"

"Yes I do."

"This is the kinda thing that you can't let bother you," Joe says "'Specially for people that aren't even your family."

I purse my lips and say "What are you talking about?" trying to sound as confused and angry as possible.

"Your accent slipped, _Miss Dixon_," Joe replies. Even from across this dark room where I can barely see his face, I know he's smirking.

I cross my arms and lean my head against the concrete wall behind me. "It doesn't matter if he's related to me or not. He's taken care of me, he matters to me."

"Emotions don't help you survive."

"Emotions make you human."

"And how are us humans doing?"

I wish it was lighter so that Joe could see the angry look on my face, but it's dark, so he can't. So I just have to sit back and consider what he just said. Humans aren't doing very well at all. It's not like we have any figures on the matter, but the human race has to have been cut in half at the very least. Those of us that are left are hiding away in basements and worrying about where our next meals will come from.

No, the human race is not doing well at all.

I don't answer Joe's question.

* * *

_Dear God, I feel like everything is hopeless…_

* * *

"Keep your eyes open," Joe says quietly.

I bite back an angry remark and instead just keep a good grip on of one of my knives. I don't have any doubt that I'll need it in the next few minutes.

Joe opens the basement door and edges out. I follow behind him, the rest of the men on close on my heels. Something creaks upstairs and I almost freeze, but fight the urge and keep moving, looking around, keeping an eye all around me, not getting surprised…

I take a deep breath when I hear another creak.

We silently, methodically, check every room. Corey stays fairly close to me most of the time, and he jumps when we hear a grunt and a bang from across the house. I almost want to laugh at him, but this is a serious situation.

We cross the rooms silently until we locate the source of the noise—Dan and Joe took out a Dead-One. No big deal.

Until the door behind them bursts open with a bang—

—yelp—

—it reaches out for them—

—my knife flies—

and the Dead-One falls to the ground harmlessly, my knife lodged in its skull. Corey lets out a shaky little nervous laughs and Joe gives me a nod of thanks. Dan looks grumpy, but that might just be his face.

The rest of the house is cleared easily enough. We find the Dead-One that was banging around upstairs and put it down without trouble. I find my bag and immediately tuck the scrap of paper from the basement into it. I might have a bit of an unhealthy attachment to that diary.

And then Joe says that we should leave.

"No!" I say immediately, almost a shout. "We can't leave, how will Merle find me!"

"If he's still alive he's not stupid enough to come back here," Joe replies as if he were making a comment on the weather.

"I'll stay!" I argue "By myself! I can't leave and you probably don't want me anyway!"

Joe raises his eyebrows. "You really think that's best? Leave a group to be on your own in the hopes of finding someone that's probably dead?"

"He's _not_ dead," I bite back "And I'm_ not_ going to find him! He's going to come back!"

Joe looks like he's about to argue with me again—I haven't the faintest idea why because Merle's done nothing but tell me how much of a burden I am—when Corey speaks up. "I'm gonna stay, too," he says "My dad was with them."

It almost strikes me as odd that anyone else might have a family at this point, but I don't show any real surprise.

Joe gives me a _look_—an almost angry look—and says "Fine, you two stay," and then turns to Corey and says "You know the toll for leaving."

"Yeah," the boy mutters, shrugging his bag off of his shoulders and handing it over. Joe takes it, unzips it, and I watch with a strange fascination as he and the three other men start pawing through it, claiming what little supplies he has. The dark man points at Corey and says "Claimed" and Corey hands over the little pistol on his belt with a look of distaste. When they're done pillaging the bag they throw it back to Corey and Joe turns to me.

I open and close my mouth a few times, trying to process what just happened.

_The toll for leaving._

The toll for leaving is handing over your supplies. This is my last chance to decide to go with them, and I'm not going to take it. I need to find Merle.

I sigh heavily and reach a hand into my bag, dig out my diary, toss it behind me, and then hand everything else over to Joe.

I grit my teeth and try not to think too hard about it. There wasn't much I had that can't be replaced. The main problem is food, and we were low on that anyway. I'm a bit upset when they take my matches, and more upset when Dan rolls his eyes at my Bible and tosses it away.

It takes them hardly more than a minute to finish claiming my things, and then Joe tosses the bag back to me and says "Enjoy yourselves."

And then the four of them are gone. Just like that; leaving Corey and I alone in the house.

I toss my bag aside with a frustrated sort of growl and stoop to the ground to begin picking up the books that they tossed aside so carelessly, starting with my Bible. The front page was bent when it got tossed, and I almost want cry.

_I shouldn't cry over something like that! Stupid._

Corey kneels down next to me to help with the stacking, but I push his hands away and he stands back up. After I've gathered them all and made sure that none are damaged, I shove them into my bag and pick up my diary. I wiggle my jaw, because it's been clenched almost painfully tight for the past few minutes.

"At least they didn't take your knives," Corey says awkwardly.

"Because none of them can throw them properly," I mutter "They prefer guns."

"Sorry," Corey says.

I turn to him, bewildered "Why?" I ask with raised eyebrows.

He shrugs. "I—I dunno… just thought—never mind."

I cross my arms, hopefully donning my most 'unimpressed' look. "We can go scavenging tomorrow. Merle set a few snares around, and with any luck the Dead-Ones'll have left them alone. For now we should just wait, seal up the house. There's still some water and crackers here."

Corey nods mutely and I purse my lips, wondering why he's just going along with my plans. He's a boy, and a few years older than me. It seems like he'd want to tell me what to do. But whatever, if he wants to act stupid that's not my problem. Merle said that he was nice.

"Okay," I say. I start to walk past him and he says "Why do you call your dad by his name?"

Frowning, I reply "He's not my dad."

* * *

_Fall, 2010_

_Dear God, so you got me away from that group. Which is good. And now I'm with Corey, which is okay. But Merle isn't here, and that's bad. So I just hope that you let Merle and Corey's dad find us, because I miss him. And honestly, I don't know what I'm going to do without him to take care of me. I'm being pretty take-charge with Corey here, but I don't really know what I'm doing. I'm scared._

_Please. I need help._

_Amen._

_One of the group members_

_Lots of Dead-Ones._


	13. Welcome to The Nightmare

_The sun is blaring down on me. High noon, it looks like. It feels like it's a million degrees out. Why is it so hot?_

_I look around, scanning for danger. There's nothing. No Dead-Ones. No people. Where am I? It looks like my house. But that's silly—why would I be home?_

_"__Lucy!" someone calls._

_I turn around and see a girl in a bright blue dress on the other side of the yard. It takes me a moment to connect what I'm seeing—Sami; twelve-year-old Sami with a streak of pink in her hair and wearing clashing neon colors. Happy Sami. I open my mouth to call out her name, but it doesn't seem like she knows I'm here. She's talking to someone in front of her, and when she takes a step to the side I see that it's Will._

_Confused, I try to take a step forward, but something grabs my arm. I try to twist, to see who has me, but the grip becomes stronger and a familiar voice whispers in my ear "Watch."_

_Merle. But that doesn't make sense. The person holding me has two hands. Merle only has one._

_But I watch anyway, watch Sami talking to Will. She hands him something that glints in the sun and I realize it's one of my knives. Where did Sami get one of my knives? Will giggles and throws the knife. I watch its flight, and instead of hitting a tree like I expected, it disappears and something else takes its place—Aunt Jenny._

_She's smiling the way she always used to when she came to visit. She's carrying a carton of eggs and a bag of candy, and when she sees me she smiles even wider—_

BOOM!

_—__and falls to the ground in a crumpled heap. I try to scream, but no sound comes out, and I see Sami turn to Will with a gun in her hand, except now she's fourteen-year-old Sami with normal hair and neutral clothes and Will is covered in blood and all the way across the yard I can hear her say "Sometimes you have to kill people."_

_I struggle to get out of Merle's grasp, and now he has only one hand, and I try to scream for Sami or Will or Jenny or anyone but there's a hand over my mouth and I'm struggling, and—_

"Lucy, calm down!"

I flail my arm to the side and make contact with something that curses and I realize that I'm just struggling against Corey and it was all just a nightmare—

A nightmare that's already fading from my mind's eye. Something about Sami or Aunt Jenny or Will…

"I'm sorry," I croak out, reaching out for Corey in the dark. He doesn't flinch away when I touch his shoulder, which is good.

"It's alright," he says. Even in the low light I can tell that he's clutching his face. "But I think I'm gonna have a black eye."

"I'm sorry!" I repeat immediately "I was having a nightmare, I thought—" I bite my lip to cut myself off, because I really don't know _what _I thought.

"Really, it's okay," the boy says. He stands up and crosses the room, and after a few moments I hear his disembodied voice ask "Do you wanna talk about it?"

I take a shaky breath. "It was… about my aunt dying. And my cousin and my baby brother were there… and Merle. It was weird. It's already fading…"

"Dreams are weird," Corey replies. "Your cousin and your brother… are they…?"

"Yeah," I whisper.

"I had two brothers," he says, and leaves it at that.

"Sorry," I mumble after a few moments. I bite my lip, and in an attempt to lighten the mood, add "Well… I had three. So I win."

"Three brothers?"

"And two sisters. I win."

"Sounds more like you lose there," Corey chuckles. "Did you all share a bedroom?"

"I had my own bedroom," I laugh "It was the size of the cupboard Harry Potter grew up in but it was _mine_."

Corey laughs and then I see his outline reappear in the darkness and sit down next to me. He's holding something over his eye.

"I really got you good, didn't I?" I ask, cringing. My cringe worsens when I realize how bad my _grammar_'s gotten.

"Yeah, well… when my dad and your Merle come back, we'll say I got it defending your honor."

I snort. "Merle won't buy that—I can defend my own honor perfectly well, thank you very much."

He doesn't seem to know how to respond to that, so we sit in an awkward silence for a few moments until he says "Um… you can go back to sleep."

"No, I can't," I reply "I'll take watch. You get some sleep."

"No, really—"

"No, _really_. I can't sleep."

I imagine that if we could see each other's faces properly we would be having some sort of stare-off. Instead, I just hear Corey sigh resignedly, mutter "Okay," and lay down.

I stand up and walk across the room to the window seat where Corey was keeping watch, wrap the blanket around myself, and stare out the window. It's a dark night, barely any moonlight to help see, but the street is visible enough for me to see that there are no Dead-Ones out to kill me at the moment.

I'm sure that'll change soon.

* * *

_Fall, 2010_

_Dear God, I like Corey. Thank you for letting me find him. He's a lot nicer than anyone else I've run into over the past few months. We're going out to find food and supplies today. I pray that we get lucky, find lots of food, and not a lot of Dead-Ones. I also pray that Merle and Corey's dad come back soon. And maybe, hopefully not while we're scavenging._

_I also pray that I'll be rid of the nightmares soon._

_Amen._

* * *

"Did you sleep well?" I ask as we walk down the street. It's a crisp fall day with no Dead-Ones in sight. Of course, the smell of death still soaks into everything.

"Well enough," Corey shrugs "Did you get _enough_ sleep?"

"Doesn't really matter," I reply "I was too keyed up after the nightmare."

"Sorry."

"Not your fault…"

We stop talking as we approach the first house on the road. I purse my lips as I size it up. It's another old farm house, and it looks fairly unmolested, but…

"Do you think the rest of the group came here?" I ask.

"No, their tracks went the other way," Corey replies confidently.

"You can track?" I ask, somewhat surprised.

Corey shrugs. "We went hunting a lot…"

I nod and look back at the house. "So… you up for clearing it?"

"Yeah, are you?"

I look at Corey and raise my eyebrows. He smiles and shrugs, and then we start walking towards the house.

Upon first glance, the place is fairly normal. It's a bit rundown from months of not being properly cared for, but other than that it looks decent enough. There are no broken windows or bloodstains on the siding, which is always nice. When we open the door we get hit with the smell of death, but we don't hear anything from inside.

Everything else is like a routine. We walk through room after room, watching each other's backs and searching for anything useful. We get a few things like rope and blankets and batteries, but there's not much in the way of food. We find a can of creamed corn, which is better than nothing, and after digging through every drawer in the kitchen we find half a pack of matches. Corey grabs a steak knife for a weapon, and I give a silent prayer that we'll find something decent for him soon.

Upstairs is much the same as the ground floor until we get to the end of the hall. One of the closed doors has a slightly bloodstained note tacked on the door, written in a shaky hand.

_My name's Darla, I got bit, couldn't end it myself, tied myself up, please kill me, take what you need, good luck, God bless you._

"She's probably inside," I sigh, reaching for the door handle. Corey grabs my wrist and jerks me around to look at him. I make an irritated noise and wrench myself away. _"What?"_ I ask.

"You don't have to kill it!" he says, looking concerned.

"Of course I do," I reply, raising my eyebrows. "It won't be hard, she tied herself up."

"But you don't _have_ to do it."

"I also don't _have_ to eat, but it's a good idea," I say, crossing my arms and trying to give Corey an angry face. "If _you_ were one of those _things_, wouldn't you want me to kill you?"

"That's not—" he opens and closes his mouth a few times. "You don't know her. You don't owe her anything."

"It's not about _owing _her," I mutter explain "I'm setting her free. It's the right thing to do. Killing those things isn't fun or easy but it's the right thing to do."

Corey sighs and looks like he's about to roll his eyes before he throws his hands in the air and says "Fine! Whatever! Do what you gotta do."

"Thank you," I grumble, turning back to the door. This time I turn the knob without resistance, and Darla the Dead-One starts snarling the moment the door swings open.

She used to be pretty, I think. Long blonde hair, maybe blue eyes, a thin face. True to the note, she tied herself to a chair in the middle of the room.

I sigh heavily and glance behind me. Corey's walked to the other end of the hall.

I step into the room and softly close the door behind me. Darla snarls more and futilely struggles against her own bonds, trying to get to the fresh source of food.

"I'm sorry, Darla," I whisper, picking a knife out of my belt.

* * *

_Early Fall, 2010_

_Dear God, Corey and I didn't find much food, but we found some good supplies, and the food that we did find should last us a few days. The snares that Merle set were all messed up by the Dead-Ones, and Corey and I reset them as best we could, but I don't think they're as good._

_I like Corey. He's nice. But he tries to protect me a lot more than Merle did. He reminds me a bit of Sami, trying to protect me from the gory stuff. Well, I guess he reminds me of Sami before she shot Aunt Jenny. _

_Now I'm sad. Never mind. I pray for another night of safety, and I pray that those snares will work. I pray for all of the souls that have been lost, and I pray that Merle will find me soon._

_Amen._

_3 Dead-Ones and Darla._

* * *

_It's nighttime, and Julie's singing. I didn't know that Julie had such a pretty voice._

_We're walking hand-in-hand down a highway. Fiona is up ahead, skipping along and waving at all of the frustrated people stuck in traffic._

_"__What are we doing?" I ask._

_"__Visiting Mom and Dad," Drew replies._

_"__Oh."_

_We keep walking along, and the further we go the angrier people get. Of course, people in traffic jams are never happy, but these people seem particularly upset, and I can't figure out why. _

_We keep walking until we reach the source of the jam. A car is parked across the middle of the road, with a message painted on the windshield. _

_FIONA STAY HERE WE WILL COME EVERY DAY_

_"__That's funny," I say. "Fi, your name's on the car—"_

_I realize that Fiona isn't actually with me. Where is she? I turn around and see her, standing next to a much more familiar car. I smile at the sight of Mom and Dad next to our van. Mom is holding Will in her arms and talking to Fiona while Dad looks at the map. I try to call out to them, but find that my voice isn't working properly._

_An arm wraps around me and something leans on my shoulder. I smell Sami's coconut shampoo right before she whispers in my ear "Did you know that they're bombing the cities?"_

_And then the world explodes around me._

_I'm thrown to the ground, my ears are ringing, and something fiery is falling out of the sky. I see it headed for Mom and Dad, for Will and Fiona, and I try to scream for them but my voice still isn't working, and then the thing hits them—_

_—__screaming, fiery, screaming, my parents and my brother and my sister are burning—_

"Lucy!"

I jerk up with a small yelp and arms wrap around me, and someone is whispering "It's okay, just a nightmare… it was just a nightmare…"

And I realize that I'm crying.

"They were burning…" I whisper into Corey's shoulder.

"It's alright, nobody's burning," he says into my hair "Just us in the house. Just a nightmare. Nobody's burning."

I try to breathe steadily, but my heart rate is erratic and I feel like I can't get enough oxygen into my lungs. What was going on? What was that nightmare? Were people burning? There was fire. Something threw me to the ground. Fiona was there?

_Did you know that they're bombing the cities?_

"Corey," I whisper.

"Yeah?"

"When all of this started… did they bomb the cities?"

I feel his arms tense up around me. "Some of them… is that what your nightmare was about?"

"I don't know… but people were burning."

I feel him nod against my head and he keeps holding me in his arms. After a few moments he presses a kiss to my hair, which surprises me, and then he leans back. "Are you okay?"

"No," I reply instantly. "But you can go to sleep, I'll take watch."

Unlike last night, he doesn't argue, just nods and lays down while I stand up and head back to the window seat.

I don't know if I want to remember my nightmares or not. People were burning. Do I want to remember that? Why would I even dream something like that? I've had a few nightmares over the past few months, but never multiple nights in a row like this.

I take some more deep breaths and stare out the window. It's a clearer night than before. Maybe I'll be the first of us to see Merle coming back…


	14. Welcome to Hunger

_Fall, 2010_

_Dear God, Merle still hasn't come back. I don't know what to do. Corey and I are running out of supplies, we can't stay here forever. But I know that Merle is going to come back here eventually. He got chased off by a herd; it'll be hard for him to get back. But he will. I know he will. So I have a decision to make now: stay or go. I'm afraid that I'll make the wrong choice. I need a sign. Please._

_That's what I'm praying for. Above the safety and the luck and everything else that I'm always praying for, I need help making this choice. I need a sign. Please._

_Amen._

* * *

_The light creeps through the leaves in the trees, making patterns over the forest floor. Water laps at my ankles, and some small part of my brain knows that that's strange. But why is it strange that there's water in the middle of the woods? I don't know._

_"__Lucy!" a small voice calls. I turn to the source of the noise and see Will's head duck behind a tree. I smile and chase after him, my feet making splashes in the water as I run. But when I make it to the tree, Will isn't there._

_I call his name, turning in circles, trying to figure out where he went. Something grabs me and I yelp, but then the person puts a hand over my mouth. "Goody goody Lucy Goode," Sami's voice chuckles in my ear._

_I bat her hand away and turn to look at her, but then she's gone and somewhere else is a long, high-pitched scream. A Sami scream._

_I yell her name and try to run for the source of the noise, but this forest is confusing. The water covers the ground and the light in the leaves is making weird patterns and the trees seem to be in a grid…_

_"__Lucy!" someone else calls. I turn and finally get a clear view of the person calling my name—Corey. I call out and approach him, but just before I reach him there's a bang and a hole appears in his head._

_"__No!" I scream as he falls. I stoop to my knees and try to grab him, but he just disappears into the water. Where is he? Who shot him?_

_I turn wildly and see him at the other side of the forest. Merle, holding a gun out in front of him with his one hand. "You're always gonna be alone," he tells me, his voice echoing through the trees._

_I open my mouth to scream, but my voice catches in my throat, and then the water's rising and I can't move and it's over my knees and I can't call for help and it's at my waist and there's nobody to help me and it's at my neck and I'm all alone and it's over my head and I can't breathe can't breathe can't breathe can't breathe—_

I don't panic when I wake up this time. Have I just gotten used to nightmares? I don't know.

Even though I didn't scream, I'm still shaking and sweaty. My heart is still beating fast and I'm still breathing harshly.

There's movement on the other side of the dark room and Corey says "Another nightmare?"

I don't answer.

* * *

"It must've been pretty stupid to get caught in our crappy trap," Corey says as we stare at the rabbit struggling futilely against the wire holding its leg.

"Don't insult the thing that's giving up its life for us," I mutter, pulling my largest knife from its holster and stooping down.

"Woah," Corey exclaims, grabbing my shoulder and keeping me standing. "You don't have to kill it."

"Are we going through this again?" I sigh in exasperation, looking up at the boy. "You don't need to protect me from stuff."

"Well, yeah, but…" he trails off and looks at the rabbit "Have you ever killed something _living_?"

I bite my lip, because the answer is no. I shot that squirrel when I was still with Merle, but it didn't die. Still, I had the intent to kill it, so maybe that counts…

"I need to learn," I finally said. "And we need to put the thing out of its misery—it's terrified."

Corey looks at the rabbit again, sighs heavily, and releases my shoulder.

"Thank you," I snip, stooping down. I reach out for the rabbit, grab it by its ears, and while it squirms and tries to bite me or scratch me or get away, I slit its little neck.

* * *

"Are you sure that you're okay?" Corey asks as he skins the rabbit. I don't look up at him, because I'm trying to learn.

"I'm fine," I reply "If I want to live I can't be afraid to kill a rabbit."

"You weren't afraid," he says "But you're still a little girl."

I look up and cross my arms "I'm not _little_!" I say angrily.

"Uh huh."

"Shut up," I mutter, looking back at the rabbit. I watch him until the job's done and he sets it to cook over our little fire. It smells good, and my stomach rumbles loudly.

"Do you think we should leave?" I whisper.

Corey shrugs. "We're running out of food," he replies.

"That's not an answer," I say "Just a statement. We need to make a decision. And I'm worried that if we leave, Merle and your dad will come back and we'll be gone and…"

"They could be dead, Lucy."

I glare at the boy and say sternly "You don't _know_ that."

"I didn't say that they are dead," Corey mutters "I said that they _could_ be. I know _that_. And we can't wait around for people who might not come back."

"Shut up."

He sighs exasperatedly and throws his arms up in the air. "Why did you ask me if you were just going to argue?"

"I'm not arguing!"

_"__Really?"_

I open and close my mouth a few times. "Shut up!" I finally exclaim, standing up and storming across the yard back to the house.

As soon as I'm inside I feel a bit guilty. I'm not sure for what reasons exactly. I could be guilty for yelling at Corey, or I could be guilty for entertaining the idea of leaving at all.

I'm guilty for both reasons. Corey's telling the truth. Merle might not come back. He could be dead or lost or any number of things, and I can't wait around for someone who might not come back.

It's been nearly two weeks. And they're not back.

We need to leave.

I don't want to.

I have to.

I sit on the stairs for a few minutes, thinking about maybe crying and doing a bit of praying in my head, until I decide to stand up and head back outside. The rabbit's done, and when I sit down on the ground, Corey silently hands me a plate.

We eat quietly, and I savor every bite. I forgot that I like the taste of rabbit. But all too soon the rabbit's gone and I'm left with an empty plate. My stomach is fuller than it's been for the last couple of days, but there's still something missing…

I bite my lip and watch Corey finish the last few bites of his half of the rabbit. When he finishes it's almost too dark to make out his face well, but he looks up and our eyes meet anyway.

"We'll leave when we run out of food," I say.

* * *

_Fall, 2010_

_Dear God, Corey and I are leaving this house now. And I'm afraid. I have Corey, but he's different than having Merle. Corey's like Sami; a friend and a sibling and someone who has an equal standing as me. Merle's an adult. I want him back. I want him to look after me, not a teenage boy. _

_And now I might never see him again. So I'm afraid. There's something comforting about the fact that he could be alive, but my hopes for that are falling pretty quickly. And if Merle's dead… well… he's in a better place. I mean… I hope that he went to the better place._

_So, if Merle's alive I'm praying that he stays that way, and if he's dead I'm praying for his soul._

_As for me and Corey, I pray that you keep us safe. I pray that we find food wherever we go, and don't find a lot of Dead-Ones._

_Amen._

_A rabbit._

_2 Dead-Ones._

* * *

"How old are you?" I ask as we walk.

"Fifteen," Corey replies "Or maybe sixteen by now."

"It's weird not knowing what day it is," I say.

He shrugs noncommittally. "How old are you?"

"Twelve," I reply "But my birthday's in the winter, so I know it."

"Thought you were older," he says.

This time I'm the one that shrugs. "I feel older."

For a few moments Corey stays silent, and then he says "You're still little."

"I am not!" I exclaim, crossing my arms and turning to him. He laughs and I realize that I actually _stomped my foot_. "Shut up!"

He keeps laughing and starts walking again. I fume for a few moments before catching up with him. "You're being mean," I tell him.

"Am not," he chuckles. He points up ahead and adds "House up there."

"Good."

We don't talk for the rest of the walk to the house, and I'm discouraged before we even get to the porch. There's a Dead-One laying in the middle of the yard, which tells me that someone's been here and cleared it out. But someone…

No. That's a silly amount of hope to have.

"We'll still check," Corey says. I fight the urge to roll my eyes at him. Of _course_ we're still going to check.

Unfortunately, the inside of the house is just as disappointing as the outside. We find two more dead bodies in the rooms upstairs, and pretty much everything is cleared out. Food-wise, at least. We do manage to find half a pack of stale cookies in one of the bedrooms, but that's hardly a meal. We also find a lighter, some rope, two sweatshirts—which we very much needed, and a few other assorted supplies. My favorite is a shiny compass that almost looks like it made of gold, even though I know better. All the directions are drawn in calligraphy, it hangs on a silvery chain, and it's generally just… pretty. Corey lets me have it.

We camp in the living room for the night, chewing on the cookies. I write a diary entry, we talk for a bit, and fall asleep feeling pretty empty.

* * *

_Fall, 2010_

_Dear God, I'm hungry. I know it could definitely be worse—I'm not starving yet. But some food would be nice. So next to safety and everything else, I'm praying for food tomorrow. At least it hasn't gotten very cold yet, but I'm sure you're planning on changing that soon enough. So when the cold does hit, which I know will be soon, I pray you let us stay warm._

_But for now, food._

_Amen._

_3 Dead-Ones._

* * *

_I'm in the house that Corey and I have been hiding in for the last few weeks, but outside the window is my yard. I don't know why that's weird. It looks like it's about to storm. The flowers in the garden are blowing in the wind. I feel cold._

_I turn away from the window and find that the room is empty. There's no furniture, just the floor and the walls and the windows. Sami and Corey and sitting in the middle of the room, playing with cards. I think it's poker._

_"__I win," Sami declares. She holds out her hands and Corey rolls his eyes as he hands her something. She smirks and pops it in her mouth, and I realize it's bubblegum._

_"__What are you doing?" I ask._

_"__Winning," Sami replies, throwing a ball of bubblegum at me as she chews the one in her mouth. The piece of candy hits me but doesn't hurt, and Sami blows a bubble. She sucks the bubble back in and then coughs._

_And coughs again._

_I step forward to make sure she's okay, but she's already on the floor coughing. Corey doesn't do anything to help—just keeps cleaning up the cards while Sami chokes on the bubblegum. I find that I don't care that much, either. Is that strange?_

_Sami tries to cough again, but she's unsuccessful, and a moment later she's still._

_Corey snatches the rest of the candy from her unmoving hand and throws it in his mouth with a smirk. "That's mean," I say. Then Sami stirs._

_Except now it's not Sami. Now it's a Dead-One. And it's coming at me, reaching, grabbing, snarling—_

I wake up feeling… irritated.

At least it's almost dawn this time. I don't think I've slept through the night in the past few days.

"You alright?" Corey calls sleepily.

"You didn't wake me up for my shift," I reply.

"You were actually sleeping, didn't want to bother you," he says.

I sit up in my makeshift bed and stare at him, sitting in a chair next to the window. "That's stupid. Now you're going to be exhausted all day."

He shrugs and stands up "Maybe I'll take a nap later," he says "Did you have any nightmares."

"One," I say "But I think it was about bubblegum, which is weird."

Corey shrugs. "Bubblegum monsters are better than watching people die," he tries to joke.

I frown. "I think people died, too."

* * *

Corey takes a nap while I search through the house one last time and pack up all of our belongings. Over the past few months I've perfected the art of packing things tightly, but we still have to leave a few non-essentials behind if we want all the blankets and sweaters. It'll be harder to pack when it gets colder, but Corey thinks that the Dead-Ones'll freeze. I hope he's right.

When I wake him up he seems grumpy, but we head out anyway. After a while he seems back to his normal self, though he has some big bags under his eyes. I tell him to let me take the larger watch tonight and he just shrugs.

We come to another house that's just as looted as the last one, but we still have light in the day so we press on, sucking on mints we just procured as we walk. I'm happy about the mints, because I haven't brushed my teeth in well over a week.

We're approaching a curve in the road when I hear the first sound.

I stop walking and Corey does as well. He opens his mouth, but I hold up my hand and he doesn't speak.

I hear it again.

A noise.

Which way is it coming from?

Left.

"Come here," I hiss, grabbing Corey's arm and pulling him to the right, into the trees, past the point where we can still be seen.

"What is it?"

"Dead-Ones, shut up!" I whisper.

I crouch down in the trees and focus my eyes on the road. I can just barely see the asphalt through the breaks in the dying leaves, but after a few moments I see them coming. Actually _following _the_ road_.

Corey's crouched next to me, and after watching the Dead-Ones amble for a few moments he says under his breath "Holy shit."

"Don't curse," I whisper.

_"__Seriously?"_

_"__Shut up."_

The herd keeps going for a few minutes, and then it seems like they've been walking past us for an hour.

"How many do you think there are?" Corey asks quietly.

"Too many."

"We should go," he says "Through the woods."

"What if they see us?"

"They won't," he promises "And they're making too much noise to notice anything that isn't right in their faces."

I take another glance through the trees, and think _At least the ones that still have faces._ I turn back to Corey and nod.

We both quietly stand up and make our way through the woods, slowly, and then as we get farther away more quickly. After a while we can't even hear them at all. "I hate those things," Corey says.

"Really? I love them," I mutter sarcastically.

"Shut up."

"I'm supposed to tell you to shut up."

"And now I'm telling you."

"Shut up."

He laughs. "You're like the little sister I never wanted."

"Shut up."

We walk through the day, and when it gets dark, we're still in the woods and my stomach is grumbling. All we found today were some crackers. Eventually, though, we have to concede and stop for the night. We choose a clearing with some soft grass and a creek nearby.

"I'll take first watch," Corey says as we start a rather pathetic fire to boil our water.

"You're exhausted," I reply. "I'll take first watch and wake you up when I get tired."

"Lucy—"

"Go to sleep, Corey."

* * *

_Fall, 2010_

_Dear God, we're lost. In the woods. The days are kind of bleeding together, and I'm getting really hungry. I ate a bug earlier today, and I'm not happy about it._

_We're following the compass, but we're either reading it wrong or it's broken. Or maybe this forest just goes on forever and ever. I really hope that's not the case. It doesn't really help when we get re-routed by little groups of Dead-Ones._

_Anyway, please help us. My nightmares are getting worse and I'm hungry and I'm scared and I just don't know what to do._

_Help._

_I'm praying as hard as I can._

_Amen._

_12 Dead-Ones._

* * *

There's a clearing up ahead.

And in my head, I'm just saying _Oh, thank you God._

But when we get closer it's just a clearing.

It's a really big clearing, maybe a mile wide, but it's just a clearing. No houses. No opportunities for food.

"What do we do?" I ask quietly.

"It looks like a road up there," Corey replies. I gaze across the clearing. I can't tell, but it looks like… maybe there's a road. But it also feels like a really long walk with how tired I am.

"Okay…" I mumble.

And we start walking,

That's what it's been like the past couple of days. My stomach actually hurts. With all the danger that I've been in over the past few months, I don't think I've ever considered starvation, of all things. Starvation was never a _problem_.

Now it is.

_God, please, let it be a road._

My stomach growls menacingly as we walk, and when we're about halfway across the field I see that it's a road.

A road.

A road.

Roads mean houses and houses mean food—

_Food, please._

In a fit of utter madness I start running. I don't have the spare energy to do something like that, but I go off anyway, spurred by the idea of food. I'll take rotten Brussels sprouts in a can if it means food.

Food.

"Lucy!" I hear Corey call from behind me. I almost don't care… almost. But I remind myself not to be stupid, to wait for Corey, and I stop running.

I turn around to wait for him, and almost feel angry at his slow pace, even as I acknowledge to myself that running was probably a stupid idea in the first place. I feel tired and _dizzy_… dizzy is not good.

My stomach growls again.

And then I hear a sound.

"No…" I whisper miserably as Corey's eyes widen. I turn around to get one quick look at the herd that's probably going to be the death of me…

Not a herd.

A truck.

_A truck._

A car that's moving.

That means people.

_A truck._

And it's coming for us.

_Oh please, please, thank you, thank you, thank you, God—_

"Run, Lucy!" Corey yells.

And then I remember that people can be bad.

But we're going to starve if we run back the way we came.

So I ignore Corey.

I don't run.

I just stand there.

The truck approaches.

Stops.

Doors open.

_I'm still feeling dizzy._

Three white man, a black man, a Latino man. Getting out of the truck. Guns are half-raised. Big guns.

I put up my hands weakly. _I'm nice._

_Still dizzy._

I realize they're pointing their guns at Corey, who's probably acting much more aggressive than me.

I'm tired.

I need food.

I'm going to die if I go back to the woods.

I keep my hands up.

I don't look at Corey.

The men say something to Corey. Then put down their guns.

The Latino man comes toward me.

_Still dizzy._

My knees give out.

* * *

_I'm walking, walking, walking. Around me people are starving and dying and I don't know what to do to help them. They keep calling out, and I want to tell them that I can't help, but my voice is caught in my throat._

_Walking, walking, walking. I'm hopeless. Even the grass is dying. The road is cracking. Ahead of me there's an ominous building. I know there's something bad in it, but it's also my destination. If it's so bad, why am I going there? I don't know. It's like my feet aren't controlled by me. I just keep walking._

_People keep crying._

_I can't help them._

_I keep walking to the building._

_There's something bad in there…_

_One of the crying people reminds me that I'm dreaming._

* * *

Someone's talking. That's the first thing I notice as I come to.

Then I notice that I'm in a bed. Then that there's something on my arm. Did I break my arm? Am I in the hospital?

No. I'm not in the hospital.

The world ended. There are no more hospitals left.

I open my eyes and groan at the sunlight streaming through the blinds. I'm not in the hospital, but I'm somewhere nice. I haven't seen a room this made-up in months.

But the thing on my arm is an IV, I notice that straight off. So I'm somewhere that's _trying _to be a hospital. Who has IV's?

I sit up with a loud groan and realize that my head hurts. My stomach is still growling. But I don't feel as light-headed. I'm not dizzy. The fluids in the IV must be giving me vitamins or something.

"Hello!" I call.

I close my eyes and run a hand through my hair, waiting for the voices outside my door to respond. It takes only a few seconds, and then a doctor-y-looking black woman enters, followed by a tall white man. He looks familiar…

"Morning, dear," says the woman, approaching my bed "I'm sure you want something to eat, but I need you to do a few things for me first."

"Okay…" I mumble.

The woman holds up her fingers and asks me to follow them with my eyes. We go through a few things like that. She checks my pupils with a small flashlight, asks me to tell her how many fingers she's holding out, and then says that I'm fine. "You hit your head when you passed out," she adds.

"What did I pass out from?" I ask wearily.

"Malnourishment," the woman replies. "I'll bring you some food, just wait here." She eyes the man as she walks out of the room and closes the door. The man smiles at me and sits down.

"Hi," I say.

"Hello," he says pleasantly. "You're Lucy, correct?"

"Yeah," I nod. "Did Corey tell you?"

The man smiles "Yes, he did. And he's fine, by the way—before you ask."

"Good," I say, sighing in relief. "What's your name?"

"You can call me the Governor."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

So if you read through this story despite my warnings, congrats. If you liked it, them I'm a better writer than I thought. I don't know what it is about this story that makes me dislike it so much. Maybe I just can't get into Lucy's character. I dunno. But my original plan was for there to be several chapters from Lucy's perspective, and now that is not going to happen. Maybe at some point I'll revisit her, but that won't be for a good long while. Anyway, all of Lucy's story will be told in 'The End' which is the next story from Dawson/Sami's perspective, though of course not in much detail as in a story.

Gosh, even this AN feels awkward. I hate this story. Oh well. I'll leave it up indefinitely. Thank you for reading.

Much love from Bowties.

**End Author's Note.**


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